61FT  OP 
ROBERT 
BELPHER. 


•' 


ERIN  MOR: 

THE  STORY  OF  IRISH 
REPUBLICANISM.  I 


BY 

JOHN   BRENNAN. 


SAN  FRANCISCO 

.    DIBJRS    A 

1892 


COPYRIGHT   1892 

BY  JOHN    BRHNNAK 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


PRINTED  BY  THE  PUBLISHERS,  SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 


DEDICATION. 


TO 

BENJAMIN    HARRISON, 

PKESIDENT  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES, 

Under  whose  patriotic  and  enlightened  administration  the 
flame  of  American  National  spirit  has  been  rekindled,  this 
book  is  respectfully  dedicated.  The  purpose  of  the  author 
is  neither  to  excite  nor  perpetuate  any  form  of  foreignism, 
but  the  earnest  desire  of  creating  in  the  minds  of  his  Celtic 
brethren  a  deep,  intense  and  fervid  American  National  spirit. 
In  the  present  Chief  Magistrate  the  author  recognizes  the 
ideal  American,  who,  in  his  official  character  and  conduct, 
reflects  all  that  is  wise,  generous,  heroic  and  merciful  in  the 
genius  of  the  Great  Republic.  Toward  .Russia,  charitable ; 
with  Chile,  patient ;  with  Italy,  merciful ;  and  calmly  cour 
ageous  toward  England.  Proud  and  happy  be  that  President 
under  whose  administration  the  Republic  has  attained  a 
position  of  material  greatness  and  moral  eminence  unex 
ampled  in  the  lives  of  nations,  ancient  or  modern.  This 
grateful  tribute  is  not  of  that  reprehensible  sort  "  born  of 
benefits  received,"  or  "  fostered  by  the  hope  of  favors  yet  to 
come,"  but  the  heartfelt  testimony  of  an  adopted  citizen,  who 
joyfully  contemplates  the  prosperity  and  glory  of  the  Great 
Republic.  Esto  perpetua. 

JOHN  BRENNAN. 
San  Francisco,  Cal.,  May  1, 1892. 


"9  . 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  II — SOME  STRUGGLES  FOR  EXISTENCE       ....        9 

CHAPTER  III— TRUE  CAUSES  OF  IRISH  FAMINE 14 

CHAPTER  IV— THE  LAND  OF  PROMISE 25 

CHAPTER  V— DEVOY  BECOMES  A  POLITICAL  LEADEB      ...     32 

CHAPTER  VI— KNOWNOTHINGISM 38 

CHAPTER  VII— WAR 43 

CHAPTER  VIII— PROSPERITY  AND  PIETY 49 

CHAPTER  IX— EARLY  STRUGGLES      .........     54 

CHAPTER  X— A  BASE  CONSPIRACY 61 

CHAPTER  XI— REVENGE  AND  A  RUINED  MAN 67 

CHAPTER  XII— AN  IRISH-AMERICAN  LAWYER 71 

CHAPTER  XIII— RULE  BRITANNIA 77 

CHAPTER  XIV— IN  FENIAN  TIMES 82 

CHAPTER  XV— AN  EPISCOPALIAN  FRIEND 88 

CHAPTER  XVI— ESCAPE  OF  ANDY  DILLON 95 

CHAPTER  XVII— ARRANGING  FOR  DEPARTURE 101 

CHAPTER  XVIII— THE  EXILES  OF  ERIN 106 

CHAPTER  XIX— GETTING  ACCLIMATED 114 

CHAPTER  XX— How  DEMOCRATS  ARE  MADE 119 

CHAPTER  XXI—"  GREATER  IRELAND  " 124 

CHAPTER  XXII— STILL  CHASING  His  "ERIN  MOR"   ...     129 

CHAPTER  XXIII— IRISH  INCONSISTENCY 135 

CHAPTER  XXIV— PETTY  POLITICAL  REVENGE 141 

CHAPTER  XXV^THE  BELFAST  OF  AMERICA 147 

CHAPTER  XXVI— DEATH  OF  NANCY  Me  HUGH 156 

CHAPTER  XXVII— GLORIA  IN  EXCELSIS  DEO! 160 

CHAPTER  XXVIII— AN  IRISH  EVICTION 166 

CHAPTER  XXIX— TRAGIC  DEATH  OF  DEVOY 171 

CHAPTER  XXX— VOYAGE  AROUND  CAPE  HORN  ....  175 
CHAPTER  XXXI— THE  DEMOCRATIC  "  ROUND-UP  "  .  .  .  .180 
CHAPTER  XXXII— A  SMALL  POLITICIAN'S  REVENGE  .  .  .  184 
CHAPTER  XXXIII— AMONG  THE  CALIFORNIA  INDIANS  ...  192 
CHAPTER  XXXIV— "BLESSED  ARE  THE  MERCIFUL"  .  .  .  197 

CHAPTER  XXXV— TEN  YEARS  OF  SOLITUDE 202 

CHAPTER  XXXVI— ATTEMPTED  CONQUEST  OF  AMERICA  .  .  208 
CHAPTER  XXXVII— DAY  DAWNS  ON  "ERIN  MOR"  .  .  .  213 
CHAPTER  XXXVIII— ENGLISH  CIVILIZATION  SOCIETY  .  .219 
CHAPTER  XXXIX— " GREATER  IRELAND"  IN  COUNCIL  .  .  2^6 

CHAPTER  XL— AFTER  FIFTEEN  YEARS 232 

CHAPTER  XLI— GROVEB  CLEVELAND  AND  THE  IRISH  .  .  .239 
CHAPTER  XLII— "ERIN  MOR'S"  AGE  OF  REASON  ...  244 

CHAPTER  XLIII— A  RESURRECTION 253 

CHAPTER  XLIV— WEDDING  BELLS 2o8 

CHAPTER  XL V— SOME  PERSONAL  HISTORY 264 

CHAPTER  XLVI— CONCLUSION  270 


INTRODUCTION. 


f 

HE  writer  of  the  following  pages  candidly 
believes  that  while  foreign  rule  has  been 
the  crowning  and  all  -  comprehending 
curse  of  Ireland,  and  while  landlordism 
has  been  among  its  most  potent  ills,  yet  British  free- 
trade,  identical  with  the  tariff  reform  which  the  Demo 
cratic  party  now  seeks  to  inflict  upon  the  United  States, 
was  the  underlying,  if  not  the  immediate,  cause  of 
the  terrible  famine  of  1846-47.  Ireland,  one  year 
with  another,  produces  sufficient  food  to  fatten  more 
than  double  its  present  population  ;  yet  among  the 
working  people  there  poverty  is  perpetual  and  famine 
periodical.  Since  the  destruction  of  Ireland's  manu 
facturing  industries  under  the  operations  of  free-trade, 
agriculture  is  the  only  important  industry  of  the 
people  ;  and  a  country  devoted  to  agriculture  alone 
is  a  country  already  doomed,  while  a  nation  whose 
industries  are  healthily  diversified  is  proof  against 
famine  and  decay. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  understand  why  England  favors 
free-trade  with  America ;  nor  is  it  to  be  wondered  at 
that  among  a  people  of  great  intelligence  and  of  many 
minds  like  the  Americans,  England  should  find  many 
devoted  believers  in  her  plausible  theories  ;  but  it  is 
a  mystery  of  the  mysteries  why  Irishmen,  of  all  other 
citizens  in  America,  should  be  relied  on  to  vote  in 


vi  INTRODUCTION. 

American  elections  precisely  as  England  would  have 
them  vote ;  and  that  when  Grover  Cleveland  or 
Harpers  Weekly  sounds  the  drum-beat  of  Eng 
land  calling  for  soldiers  to  fight  her  battles  at  the 
American  ballot-box,  those  who  most  cheerfully  res 
pond  to  the  roll-call  should  be  the  sons  and  kindred 
of  Irish  exiles,  driven  from  their  island  home  by  that 
same  free-trade  policy ;  why  those  whose  own  fac 
tories  have  been  destroyed  by  English  free-trade 
should  be  so  anxious  to  vote  upon  themselves  and 
their  fellow-citizens  the  same  calamity  in  America, 
or  desirous  to  vote  themselves  into  the  conditions 
from  which  they  fled  when  they  left  their  own  green 
land  with  tears  in  their  eyes  and  curses  on  their  lips. 
In  seventy  years  preceding  1890  three  and  a  half 
millions  of  Irish  landed  in  the  United  States  (and 
this  does  .not  include  the  children  of  Irish  parents 
who  came  from  Britain  and  British  North  America). 
If  we  take  into  account  those  who  were  in  the  col 
onies  and  those  who  came  prior  to  1820,  it  is  safe  to 
say  that  Ireland  contributed  to  the  United  States 
not  less  than  four  and  a  quarter  millions  of  people  ; 
and  that  their  descendants  are  no  fewer  than  thir 
teen  millions,  which,  with  the  parent  stock  now  liv 
ing,  would  swell  the  Irish  element  in  this  country  to 
something  like  fifteen  millions.  Let  us  say  that  one- 
third  of  this  element  has  forgotten  the  parent  lake  to 
which  this  life  blood  ought  to  be  traced.  Let  us  say 
that  the  Irish  element  in  the  United  States  is  ten 
millions.  They  cast  in  Congressional  and  Presiden 
tial  elections  two  million  votes.  Their  sway  is  ab 
solute  in  many  American  cities  ;  they  are  powerful 


INTRODUCTION.  vii 

in  the  New  England  and  Middle  States.  When 
England  drove  them  out  they  did  not  seek  homes  in 
Georgia,  Alabama,  South  Carolina  or  Kentucky. 
They  settled  in  New  York,  New  Jersey,  Pennsyl 
vania  and  New  England,  where  Northern  enterprise 
and  Northern  capital  built  factories  and  inaugurated 
public  improvements,  and  gave  them  labor  for  their 
hands  and  bread  for  their  families.  Acting  under 
the  natural  law  that  men  decide  to  live  where  they 
find  least  resistance  to  living,  two-thirds  of  all  the 
Irish  emigrants  that  ever  came  to  the  United  States 
settled  in  that  region  bounded  on  the  south  by  the 
Ohio  River,  and  on  the  west  by  a  line  drawn  north 
and  south  through  the  western  limit  of  Pittsburgh, 
Pa.  And  yet  it  is  strange,  and  to  the  American 
mind  incomprehensible,  that  the  tremendous  political 
power  of  this  vast  mass  of  men  has  been  wielded 
almost  solidly,  until  within  the  present  decade,  in  co 
operation  with  the  slave  oligarchy  of  the  South  and 
exactly  in  accordance  with  the  wishes  and  the  inter 
ests  of  England,  and  in  opposition  to  the  interests 
and  desires  of  the  Northern  people  by  whom  these 
Irish  exiles  were  employed  and  among  whom  they 
and  their  children  made  their  homes.  At  last  the 
lines  a/e  broken,  and  thousands  of  self-respecting 
Irish- Americans  refuse  longer  to  be  dragged  at  the 
chariot  wheels  of  England  in  American  politics  under 
the  lash  of  the  old  slave  oligarchy  and  their  allies  in 
the  cities  of  the  North. 

America  and  England  cannot  both  be  foremost 
among  the  manufacturing  and  commercial  nations  of 
the  world.  One  of  them  must  go  under.  England 


vni  INTRODUCTION. 

or  America — which  ?  The  decision  is  in  the  hands 
of  Greater  Ireland.  If  free-trade  is  to  succeed  in 
this  country,  it  can  succeed  only  by  a  practically  solid 
"Irish  vote"  We  venture  the  belief  that  this  vote 
can  never  be  solidified  for  the  Democratic  party  on 
a  free-trade  platform.  The  schoolmaster  has  been 
tampering  with  the  Irishman  on  both  sides  of  the 
Atlantic,  and  the  labors  of  the  educator  have  not 
been  in  vain.  In  the  following  pages  we  have  en 
deavored  to  trace  the  growth  and  progress  of  Amer 
ican  principles  in  the  Irish  mind.  The  pictures  have 
perhaps  been  crudely  drawn.  Some  people  may  say 
that  they  have  been  too  strongly  drawn,  especially 
the  pictures 'of  famine  in  Ireland.  But  they  repre- 
senty^/5-,  attested  by  history  and  within  the  memory 
of  living  men.  It  is  not  the  writer's  purpose  to  in 
voke  a  new  Ireland  in  America.  Quite  the  contrary. 
It  will  be  a  blessed  day  when  the  great  rivers  of 
immigration  shall  be  merged  and  mingled  in  the 
ocean  of  American  nationality.  But  so  long  as  one 
great  political  party  in  this  country  lays  claim  to  a 
solid  "  Irish  vote,"  regardless  of  the  issues  to  be  de 
termined,  and  seeks  to  perpetuate  that  claim,  so  long 
will  self-respecting  Irish- Americans  resent  that  claim 
as  odious  and  insulting,  and  insist  that  they  are  not 
the  pariahs  of  American  political  society,  but  a  race 
of  liberty-loving  men  not  less  American  than  other 
Americans,  and  who  insist  upon  voting  for  the  best 
interests  of  America  in  accordance  with  their  own 
material  welfare,  their  judgments  and  their  con 
sciences. 


CHAPTER  I. 

FAMINE. 

'T  was  late  in  the  summer  of  the  year  1847,  in 
the  dawn  of  the  morning,  at  a  certain  Irish 
town  in  the  valley  of  the  River  Shannon. 
The  morning  air  was  laden  with  the  odor  of 
the  newly-mown  hay  in  the  surrounding  fields ;  the 
dew  was  dripping  from  the  trees;  the  grain  was 
ripening  into  golden  loveliness;  the  drowsy  cattle, 
rising  from  their  night  of  rest,  were  commencing  to 
browse  upon  the  verdant  hills ;  but  the  potato  fields 
that  had  bloomed  in  luxuriance  only  a  month  before, 
were  blackened  and  putrefying  masses  of  dead  vege 
tation. 

John  Dillon,  the  butcher,  a  stalwart,  manly-looking, 
dark-haired  man  of  six-and-twenty,  walked  forth 
from  his  cabin,  coatless  and  hatless,  and  entering  a 
paddock,  led  forth  an  ass,  a  creature  of  the  female 
kind,  young  and  well-conditioned.  This  animal  he 
killed  and  dressed  before  the  people  appeared  in  the 
street;  and  at  the  time  which,  to  those  who  had  food, 
was  the  breakfast  hour,  John  Dillon  was  distributing 
gratis,  ''to  his  famished  neighbors,  cutlets  and  steaks 
from  the  carcass.  There  was  no  public  announce 
ment  as  to  the  character  of  the  meat,  and  the  un 
fortunate  people  were  in  no  condition  to  make 
embarrassing  inquiries.  After  setting  aside  some  of 


2  ERIN  MOK:    THE   STORY  OF 

the  choicest  cuts  for  the  neighbors  who  were  con 
valescing  from  the  typhus  fever  at  the  improvised 
hospital  at  the  old  ruins  of  the  woolen  mill,  and  a 
fore-quarter  for  his  own  family,  he  distributed  the 
remainder  to  all  of  his  neighbors  who  were  not  too 
proud  to  accept  of  his  generous  offering.  It  might 
seem  foolish  to  think  of  pride  among  people  who 
were  slowly  starving  to  death ;  but  there  were  still 
left  traces  of  pride  among  a  people  who,  before  that 
famine,  were  proud  as  they  were  virtuous  and  gay — 
the  proudest  people  in  Europe.  His  guests  were 
not  all  of  the  human  species.  Gaunt  and  hungry 
dogs  gathered  from  the  neighboring  streets,  and  even 
from  the  surrounding  country,  attracted  by  the  scent 
of  blood,  and  animated  by  the  instinctive  expectation 
of  animal  food.  The  butcher  divided  the  heart, 
the  lungs  and  liver,  and  other  odds  and  ends,  among 
the  dogs. 

A  wretched  looking  man,  named  Barney  Devoy, 
disputed  with  a  hungry  cur  for  an  attractive  looking 
piece  of  liver,  and  to  signalize  his  triumph,  when  he 
had  secured  the  prize,  he  gave  the  brute  a  kick ;  and 
then  remarked  apologetically : 

"This  is  the  first  meal  of  meat  my  family  has  had 
since  Easter."  The  butcher  kindly  but  firmly  rep 
rimanded  the  kicker. 

"  Barney,"  said  he,  "don't  kick  the  poor^brute. 
He  is  one  of  us,  one  of  God's  creatures,  a  victim  of 
the  calamity  that  has  befallen  our  country." 

And  on  that  blessed  summer  morning  the  incense 
of  cutlets,  fries  and  fricassees  went  up  to  heaven  with 


IKISH   REPUBLICANISM.  3 

the  thankfulness  of  those  who  feasted  on  the  body 
of  the  ass. 

John  Dillon  hastily  cooked  some  juicy  steaks,  and 
placing  them  in  a  warm  iron  pot,  hastened  to  the  old 
factory  building.  He  carried  a  bucket  full  of  pure 
spring  water  from  the  great  well  in  the  public  square, 
and  entered  the  building  intent  upon  feeding  those 
who  were  able  to  eat.  In  a  remote  corner  of  the 
ruined  building,  a  young  peasant  named  Patsy 
Kenny,  and  his  wife,  lay  side  by  side.  They  had 
passed  through  the  heated  period  of  the  fever,  and 
on  the  preceding  night  were  in  the  condition  of  the 
disease  vulgarly  called  ''the  cool."  The  butcher 
approached  them  with  the  feast.  He  sprinkled  their 
faces  with  the  cold  water,  and  the  young  husband 
responded  with  a  feeble  moan,  but  the  woman  made 
no  sign.  Her  partially  opened  eye-lids  revealed  the 
ghastly  whitish  indications  of  de^ath.  Her  soul  had 
passed  into  eternity  during  the  night,  but  the  husband 
knew  it  not.  Through  the  long  hours  of  the  night 
the  festering  remains  of  the  dead  peasant  woman  had 
lain  upon  its  pallet  of  straw,  beside  the  emaciated 
living  body  of  a  husband,  whom  hunger  and  disease 
had  rendered  insensible,  and  too  feeble  to  realize  that 
the  wife  was  dead. 

He  gave  drink  and  meat  to  Kenny,  and  hastily 
returned  to  his  residence  and  brought  with  him  a 
clean  sheet,  in  which  he  tenderly  wrapped  the  slen 
der  form  of  Kitty  Kenny. 

The  corpse  was  placed  in  the  hospital  coffin;  a 
grave  was  hastily  dug,  and  the  mortal  remains  were 
dropped  coffinless  into  earth. 


4  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

The  public  coffin  of  the  period  was  a  hinged  con 
trivance,  in  which  persons  were  borne  for  interment. 
The  bottom  was  fastened    by  a  clasp  to  one  side, 
with  hinges  on  the  other  side.     This  coffin  with  its 
corpse   was  carried    to   the  grave,  the  bottom    un 
clasped,  opened  upon  its  hinges,  ashes  returned  to 
ashes,  and  dust  to  dust,  and  the  coffin  was  returned 
to  the  hospital  for  future  use.     There  was  no  funeral, 
and  rarely  ceremony.     While  Dillon  and  three  other 
men  were  burying  the  remains  of  Kitty   Kenny,  a 
poor  peasant  entered  the  graveyard  with  the  body  of 
his  child  wrapped  in  a  piece  of  sack-cloth,  dug  the 
little  grave  with  a  spade  in  his  own  hands,  and  re 
turned  the  infant  clay  to  mother  earth.     At  the  same 
time  a  cart,   provided  by  the  public  authorities,  re 
turned  from  its  daily  round  of  collecting  the  dead 
who  had  perished  by  the  road-side ;  and  these  hor 
rible  spectacles  excited  little  notice  or  comment,  be 
cause  such  scenes  were  of  daily  and  hourly  occurrence 
in  many  parts  of  the  western  and  southern  counties 
of  Ireland,  all  the  way  from  Donegal  in  the  Northern 
province,  to    Western    Cork  in  the  South,  and  all 
through  the  counties  on  the  coast  of  Connaught  in 
the  West. 

John  Dillon  knelt  upon  the  grave  of  Kitty  Kenny 
and  prayed — implored  Almighty  God  to  soften  the 
hearts  of  Ireland's  oppressors,  or  preserve  sufficient 
numbers  of  the  race  to  become  the  administrators  of 
God's  vengeance  upon  them.  He  then  washed  his 
hands  at  the  horse-pond  below  the  public  spring,  and 
returned  to  the  old  factory  building  to  render  such 
relief  as  he  could  to  the  fever-stricken  patients. 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  5 

The  typhus  fever,  which  usually  followed  extreme 
hunger,  was  h;ghly  infectious  ;  and  hunger  begets 
cowardice  and  fear.  As  he  approached  the  old  ruin 
he  saw  Barney  D  jvoy  walk  up  near  the  door  of  the 
building  with  a  little  can  full  of  milk,  and  after  plac 
ing  the  milk  at  the  threshold,  hastily  beat  a  retreat. 
Another  man  came  near  the  door,  and  fixing  a  loaf 
upon  the  point  of  a  long  pole,  placed  the  bread  inside 
the  building  and  retired.  It  remained  for  some  fear 
less  person,  and  sometimes  for  the  convalescing  pa 
tients,  to  distribute  the  food  and  drink  among  the 
sick. 

The  hospital  was  now  crowded  with  the  fever- 
stricken  and  the  famishing;  and  it  was  no  uncommon 
sight  to  see  applicants  for  admission  lying  in  the  sun 
upon  the  sidewalks,  until  death  had  made  some  va 
cancies. 

John  Dillon's  heart  seemed  to  sink  within  his 
breast  as  he  saw  these  poor  creatures,  their  faces  up 
turned  to  the  sun,  their  blackened  teeth  obtruding 
through  their  fever-parched  lips.  But  nature  has  its 
special  as  well  as  its  general  claims.  His  own  family 
was  on  the  verge  of  starvation,  and  this  fact  had  been 
painfully  impressed  upon  him  before  he  decided  to 
kill  the  ass,  the  only  domestic  creature  that  he  owned. 
He  had  decreed  the  death  upon  the  preceding  night. 
Three  days  previously  he  had  expended  his  last  shil 
ling  for  food,  and  the  day  preceding  that  upon  which 
the  donkey  had  been  slaughtered,  he  had  entered  his 
cabin  to  witness  a  scene  which  impelled  him  to  cer 
tain  determinations.  His  wife  was  in  tears,  and  his 
infant  child  was  hungry. 


6  ERIN  MOB:    THE  STORY   OF 

"Mary,  macree"  said  he  to  his  wife,  "it  seems 
as  if  we  had  reached  the  end  of  our  rope.  I  have 
traveled  all  over  town,  and  found  no  friend.  Amid 
the  horrors  of  famine  there  is  little  friendship.  Our 
neighbors  are  dying  all  around  us.  There's  Paddy 
Kenny,  one  of  the  decentest  men  in  the  parish,  dying 
of  typhus,  and  Tom  Byrne,  the  freest-hearted  cray- 
thur  that  ever  lived,  gone  to  his  grave  in  a  charity 
coffin,  dumped  into  the  earth  as  dogs  are  buried/' 

"God's  will  be  done,"  replied  the  wife.  "But 
surely,  acushla,  you  could  borrow  a  few  shillings  to 
save  the  child  from  starving,  until  Heaven  somehow 
comes  to  our  relief." 

"  Maybe  I  could,"  he  replied  ;  «  but  I  hadn't  the 
heart  to  try.  To  beg  and  to  receive  is  hard  enough, 
but  to  beg  and  be  refused  is  more  than  flesh  and 
blood  can  bear.  I  saw  men  just  as  good  as  I  am  be 
seech  a  shilling's  worth  of  yellow  meal  on  credit,  and 
I  saw  them  refused.  I  myself  can  suffer  hunger.  I 
can,  if  it  comes  to  that,  get  food  by  force;  but,  Mary, 
darlin',  it  would  brake  my  heart  to  beg  and  be  re 
fused." 

The  conversation  between  husband  and  wife  was 
abruptly  terminated  by  a  voice  from  an  adjoining 
chamber,  from  the  sleeping  apartment  of  the  Dillon 
mansion.  It  was  the  voice  of  little  Andy,  their  in 
fant  boy;  not  the  boisterous,  robust  outcry  of  a  baby 
suddenly  awakened  from  a  healthy  sleep,  but  the 
agonized  wail  of  a  hungry  child ;  a  voice  that  bespoke 
human  suffering  more  eloquently  than  the  frenzied 
periods  of  a  labor  agitator.  The  father  entered  the 
bed-room.  The  sunlight  of  an  Irish  summer  after- 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  7 

noon  fell  softly  upon  the  emaciated  face  of  the  child, 
revealing  the  ravages  that  two  days  fasting  had 
made. 

"  There,  now,  Andy,  acushla  machree,  be  aisy. 
What  can  daddy  do  for  the  boy?" 

a  Meat,  meat  1 "  cried  the  famishing  child.  "  Mary," 
inquired  the  father,  "  is  there  nothing  in  the  house  ?" 

"  Not  as  much  as  you  could  put  in  your  eye,"  re 
sponded  Mrs.  Dillon.  "  Not  a  morsel  has  crossed 
the  lips  of  the  child  since  night  before  last.  I 
have  often  heard,"  she  added,  "  of  people  out  at  sea 
livin'  on  a  drop  of  blood.  Perhaps  a  drop  of  mine 
would  save  the  child  until  Heaven  comes  to  our  re 
lief ;"  and  she  bared  the  wasted  arm,  requesting  the 
father  to  open  a  vein  and  draw  some  blood  for  the 
child 

"  No,  no,  wife,"  he  said,  "you  must  not  think  of 
doing  that.  This  land  of  ours  has  plenty  of  food. 
A  hundred  firkins  of  butter  were  sold  in  the  market 
yesterday  ;  and  the  Longford  road  is  black  with  carts 
carrying  provisions  for  shipment  to  the  English 
market.  There  are  fat  cattle  and  sheep  in  the  valleys 
all  around  us.  I  don't  care  to  sware,  Mary;  but  by 
that  God  to  whom  we  have  prayed  in  vain  for  mercy, 
while  there  is  life  in  this  heart  of  mine,  and  yet  some 
strength  in  this  arm,  my  infant  boy  will  not  die  of 
hunger." 

During  the  conversation,  as  if  by  special  dispensa 
tion  of  Providence,  the  suffering  child  had  fallen 
asleep.  The  father  moved  the  infant  to  the  inner 
side  of  the  bed,  lay  down  beside  him,,  and  wept  as 
only  strong  men  weep.  And  the  summer  sun  had 


8  EKIN  MOR:    THE   STOKY  OF 

set  behind  the  hill  of  Knockadoo  ere  John  Dillon 
was  awakened  from  his  slumbers  by  the  renewed 
clamor  of  the  child  for  "  Meat,  papa,  meat." 

"Yes,  meat,  Andy,"  he  said  to  the  child,  as  if  he 
were  addressing  a  full-grown  man.  "  Yes,  meat,  ma 
bouchal,  I'll  give  you  meat." 

And  seizing  an  axe,  he  rushed  from  his  cabin,  out 
of  the  town,  in  the  direction  of  the  broad  demesne 
of  Lord  Mount  Packenham. 


CHAPTER   II. 

SOME    STRUGGLES    FOR    EXISTENCE. 

> 

HE  long1  gray  twilight  of  an  Irish  summer 
evening  was  darkening  into  the  black 
ness  of  a  moonless  night,  as  John  Dillon 
arrived  at  the  corner  of  Lord  Packen- 
ham's  demesne.  There  was  an  apple  orchard  sur 
rounded  by  a  twelve-foot  wall,  and  he  could  dimly 
see  the  ripening  fruit  hanging  on  its  branches  above 
the  wall ;  but  he  could  hear  the  deep-mouthed  voice 
of  the  bull-dog  inside,  aroused,  no  doubt,  by  his  ap 
proach. 

A  little  further  on  there  was  a  broad  field  of  tur 
nips  ;  but  he  could  see  the  form  of  the  game-keeper, 
shot-gun  in  hand,  guarding  the  field  against  antici 
pated  raids  from  the  famishing  people  of  the  town. 

He  retreated  beyond  the  possible  range  of  the 
game-keeper's  gaze,  and  entered  a  field  on  the  oppo 
site  side  of  the  public  road  ;  and  hearing  the  heavy 
fall  of  marching  men  behind  him,  he  hid  in  a  deep 
ditch  behind  a  hawthorn  hedge,  and  he  saw  the  police 
night  patrol,  six  constables  and  a  sergeant,  march 
past  him  in  the  direction  of  Carrick. 

All  animated  nature,  save  the  armed  agents  of 
English  law  in  Ireland  and  the  civil  protectors  of 
private  property,  had  apparently  gone  to  rest.  He 
passed  through  the  field,  close  to  the  recumbent  forms 
of  great  fat  bullocks,  without  disturbing  them.  He 


10  ERIN   MOR:     THE   STORY  OF 

aroused  a  covey  of  partridges  from  their  nest  in  the 
rank  after-grass,  and  he  saw  sheep  and  lambs  lying 
peacefully  upon  the  gentle  elevations  in  the  fields. 
He  selected  his  meat,  and  delivering  a  blow  unneces 
sarily  violent  with  his  meat  axe,  a  fat  lamb  lay  dead 
at  his  feet.  Half  an  hour  later  he  appeared  at  his 
cabin  ;  the  door  opened  responsive  to  his  knock,  and 
he  dropped  his  dead  lamb  upon  the  floor. 

"John,  agra"  said  Mrs.  Dillon,  "what  does  this 
mane?  Is  it  stalin1  you  have  been?  Sure  you 
wouldn't  bring  disgrace  to  our  good  name,  and  the 
black  stain  of  sin  upon  your  soul  by  stalin'  a  lamb?" 

"Mary,"  said  the  husband,  "This  manes  meat. 
It  manes  that  my  poor  starving  child  will  sleep  to 
night  with  his  body  full  of  the  best  our  country 
affords.  The  voice  of  nature  within  me,  which  is 
the  prompting  of  God,  told  me  to  get  that  meat ;  and 
there  it  is.  Don't  preach  to  me  now.  Bar  the  door. 
Blind  the  window  wid  a  blanket,  stir  the  fire,  put  on 
some  turf,  down  wid  the  iron  pot,  and  don't  talk 
relio-ion  to  me  till  the  child  is  fed." 

o 

And  these  directions  of  the  father  complied  with, 
he  hastily  skinned  the  lamb.  But  the  voice  of  little 
Andy  rose  impatiently  in  protest  against  waiting  for 
the  pot  to  boil ;  so,  using  the  tongs  for  a  grid-iron, 
he  broiled  a  tender  chop,  which  the  infant  ravenously 
devoured. 

tl  Come  on  now  wid  yer  peelers  and  yer  sheriffs," 
he  said ;  "  I  have  done  a  father's  duty  to-night," 

He  next  piled  the  pelt,  the  entrails,  the  kidney  fat, 
and  the  blood  of  the  lamb  upon  the  hearth,  and  sur 
rounding  them  with  turf  coals  provided  for  their 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  11 

destination.  The  carcass  of  the  lamb  was  by  him 
self  and  his  wife  so  fairly  reduced  as  to  render  identi 
fication  impossible.  Then  solemnly  the  couple  knelt 
and  slowly  told  their  beads,  begged  forgiveness  for 
their  sins,  and  petitioned  for  their  daily  bread  ;  and 
soundly  slept  as  if  the  command  u  Thou  shalt  not 
steal,"  delivered  on  the  Mount  to  Moses  amid  the 
thunders  of  Sinai,  was  never  intended  for  the  victims 
of  a  law-created  famine. 

Next  morning  a  lamb  was  missing  from  the  de 
mesne  of  Lord  Mount  Packenham  ;  but  if  foot-prints 
had  been  made  by  the  vulgar  brogans  of  the  thief, 

J  o  o 

the  recording  angel  must  have  obliterated  them ; 
and  if  the'thief  himself  had  not  confessed,  the  ques 
tion  of  who  stole  that  lamb  might  remain  a  mystery 
to  the  present  day. 

It  was  early  on  the  morning  succeeding  the  ni^ht 

/  C!>  O  O 

upon  which  the  lamb  was  stolen,  as  the  reader  will 
remember,  that  the  death  and  distribution  of  the 
ass  and  the  other  events  related  in  the  first  chapter 
occurred. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  a  party 
of  ten  policemen,  headed  by  a  sub-inspector,  made 
diligent  search  of  every  house  in  the  street  where 
John  Dillon  resided  for  traces  of  the  stolen  lamb. 
They  found  no  trace  at  Dillon's;  because  he  had 
fed  the  fragments  to  the  children  of  his  neigh 
bors,  and  had  carefully  consumed  the  bones  in 
the  fire.  But  they  did  make  a  discovery  at  the 
hovel  of  Barney  Devoy.  They  found  some  white 
hairs  resembling  lamb's  wool  upon  the  right  sleeve 
of  his  coat ;  and  they  found  a  piece  of  liver  upon 


12  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

a  plate  in  his  cabin.  He  was  promptly  arrested  and 
conducted  before  the  stipendiary  magistrate,  whose 
court  was  in  almost  continuous  session  at  the  time. 

Lord  Packenham's  shepherd  testified  as  to  the 
lamb  having  been  stolen.  Sub-inspector  Thornhill 
produced  some  white  hairs  from  an  envelope  in  which 
he  had  treasured  them,  and  unrolling  a  red  handker 
chief  he  displayed  the  piece  of  liver  which  he  had 
captured  at  Devoy's.  One  Archibald  Macready,  the 
veterinary  surgeon  of  Lord  Mount  Packenham,  tes 
tified  that  the  white  hairs  were  lamb's  wool,  and  the 
liver  was  the  liver  of  a  lamb. 

Devoy  requested  the  privilege  of  making  a  state 
ment,  but  the  peelers  laughed  derisively,  and  the 
magistrate  shook  his  head. 

"The  statement,"  said  the  magistrate,  "you  can  re 
serve  for  the  Assize  Court.  The  finding  of  this  court, 
on  preliminary  hearing,  is  that  a  felony  has  been 
committed,  and  that  there  is  reasonable  ground  for 
believing  that  Barney  Devoy  committed  the  crime  ; 
and  it  is  ordered  that  the  prisoner  be  committed  to 
the  county  jail  to  await  the  action  of  the  Assize 
Court  ;  and  that  he  be  admitted  to  bail  in  the  sum 
of  one  hundred  pounds." 

There  was  a  commotion  at  the  door  of  the  Petty 
Sessions  Court ;  and  the  mass  of  people  who  thronged 
the  room  divided  into  two  bodies,  clearing  a  passage 
way  for  a  coatless,  blood-bespattered  man  who  had 
entered  the  door  ;  and  even  the  policemen  moved 
aside  and  gave  him  right-of-way  as  he  approached 
the  bench.  It  was  John  Dillon. 

"  Your  Worship,"  he  said,  addressing  the  magis- 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  13 

trate,  "  Barney  Devoy  is  an  innocent  man — as  inno 
cent  as  your  Worship  is  as  to  stealing  that  lamb." 

The  magistrate  looked  at  him  in  mingled  doubt 
and  astonishment.  He  knew  John  Dillon  well,  and 
though  the  butcher  had  a  reputation  of  being  handy 
in  a  fight,  and  though  there  were  strong  and  reason 
able  doubts  as  to  his  loyalty  to  the  British  Crown, 
he  was  regarded  as  the  soul  of  honor  in  business 
affairs,  and  his  word  in  the  purchase  of  a  sheep,  or  of 
an  ox,  in  the  prosperous  times  that  had  passed,  was 
regarded  as  good  as  his  bond. 

Mr.  Curran,  the  stipendiary  magistrate,  di  -patched 
a  mounted  policeman  for  Lord  Mount  Packenham ; 
the  court  ordered  a  recess,  and  the  crowd  awaited 
patiently  the  arrival  of  his  lordship. 

When  Lord  Mount  Packenham  arrived,  the  in 
quiry  proceeded.  John  Dillon  was  sworn  and  took 
the  witness  stand.  Mr.  Curran  conducted  the  ex 
amination. 

"  You  say,  Dillon,  that  Devoy  is  innocent.  How 
do  you  know?" 

"  I  know,  because  another  party  did  it ;  and  so 
Barney  must  be  innocent." 

Lord  Mount  Packenham  here  became  sufficiently 
interested  to  ask  a  question. 

"  Dillon,"  he  said,  "if  Devoy  is  innocent,  as  you 
say,  and  another  party  stole  the  lamb,  you  can  end 
the  prisoner's  difficulty  and  serve  the  ends  of  justice 
by  stating  who  that  party  was." 

"My  lord,"  said  the  witness,  "  it  was  I,  myself, 
John  Dillon,  who  stole  the  lamb." 

Here  a  murmur  of  pity  and  pain  rose  from  the 


14  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

audience  who  packed  the  body  of  the  court  room. 
Mr.  Curran  ordered  silence,  and  the  Sub-inspector  of 
Police  called  " Silence!"  in  authoritative  tones. 

"  Dillon,"  said  Mr.  Curran,  "  if  Devoy  is  innocent, 
how  do  you  account  for  the  lamb's  wool  upon  his 
coat-sleeve,  and  the  lamb's  liver  in  his  dwelling?" 

"  Who  said  that  there  was  lamb's  wool  upon  his 
coat,  and  who  found  the  liver,  and  where  are  the  liver 
and  the  wool  ?"  inquired  the  witness. 

The  liver  and  wool  were  produced,  and  Dillon  ex 
amined  them. 

"  Who,"  he  repeated,  "  said  that  these  things  came 
from  the  body  of  a  lamb  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Archibald  Macready,  the  veterinary  sur 
geon,  so  testified,"  said  the  magistrate. 

"  Then,"  continued  the  witness,  "  there  are  a  brace 
of  donkeys  in  the  case.  Your  veterinary  surgeon  is 
an  ass ;  and  the  hair  and  liver  came  from  a  baste  of 
the  same  species.  The  lamb's  wool  there  is  ass's 
hair,  and  the  liver  is  the  liver  of  an  ass." 

Lord  Packenham  obtained  a  microscope  and  some 
wool,  and  compared  the  hair  introduced  in  evidence 
with  real  wool.  The  examination  satisfied  him  that 
Dillon  spoke  the  truth.  The  examination  of  Dillon, 
and  of  other  witnesses,  revealed  the  story  as  to  the 
slaughter  of  the  ass,  the  scenes  at  the  hospital  and 
the  grave-yard,  the  hunger  of  little  Andy,  and  the 
stealing  of  the  lamb. 

Their  worships  retired  for  a  moment  for  consulta 
tion,  and  on  their  return  to  the  court  room  made  an 
order  that  Barney  Devoy  be  discharged. 

John   Dillon  turned  to  leave,   but  Sub-inspector 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  15 

Thornhill  laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  a  group 
of  sub-constables  formed  a  cordon  around  him. 

A  murmur  of  dissent  arose  in  the  body  of  the  court 
room,  and  a  voice  spoke  from  the  bench:  It  was  the 
voice  of  Lord  Mount  Packenham  addressed  to  the 
Sub-inspector. 

"  Mr.  Thornhill,  let  Dillon  depart." 

And  as  the  butcher  and  the  lord  walked  out  into 
the  street,  the  voices  of  the  crowd  broke  forth  into 
cheers. 

O  faithful,  generous  Irish  hearts!  How  little  your 
rulers  appreciate  the  nobler  side  of  your  nature ! 
Hearts  that  are  seemingly  cold  and  callous,  kindled 
into  generous  enthusiasm  by  a  single  touch  of  that 
human  nature  which  "makes  the  whole  world  kin;" 
and  tongues  that  are  parched  by  thirst,  and  lips  that 
have  grown  enfeebled  by  famine,  overcome  the  en- 
feeblement  of  deprivation  and  utter  soul-felt  cheers 
responsive  to  justice  and  generosity. 


CHAPTER  III. 

TRUE   CAUSES   OF  IRISH  FAMINE— THE  PLUNDERED 
NATION  AND  ITS  RUINED  INDUSTRIES. 

r/ 

(?OHN  DILLON  bade  his  weeping  wife  and 
infant  boy  farewell  upon  the  morning  suc 
ceeding  the  events  in  the  magistrate's  court. 
"  Mary,"  he  said,  "it  is  hard  to  lave  you, 
but  for  me  to  remain  here  means  certain  death.  The 
town  is  now  a  plague-spot,  and  will  soon  be  a  wilder 
ness.  There  is  no  sort  of  employment.  I  cannot 
beg,  and  I  will  not  steal.  I  must  earn  bread  some 
where  for  Andy  and  you." 

He  kissed  the  wife  and  child  again  and  again,  and 
his  still  vigorous  frame  trembled  with  emotions  that 
were  but  partially  revealed  in  words.  He  handed  to 
her  a  silver  coin,  the  half-crown  received  for  the 
donkey's  hide,  took  up  his  bundle  containing  a  little 
clean  linen,  and  stepped  from  the  threshold  of  the 

cabin  in  which  he  had  enjoyed  his  happiest  years 

the  cabin  wherein. his  child  was  born. 

He  halted  in  front  of 'the  old  woolen  mill  before 
turning  the  corner  into  the  public  square.  Here  he 
turned  round  to  take  a  last  look  upon  his  cabin,  and 
as  he  did  so  he  saw  his  wife  still  standing  on  the 
stone  door-step  holding  little  Andy  forward  in  her 
arms.  He  waved  his  blackthorn  in  a  united  farewell 
and  a  signal  of  hope,  and  to  terminate  the  agony  of 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  17 

the  wife,  he  rapidly  walked  around  the  corner  and 
into  the  public  square.  Here  he  took  a  lingering 
farewell  look  at  the  old  woolen  mill.  To  him  it  was 
something  more  than  a  ruin  or  an  object  of  historic 
interest.  Five-and-thirty  years  before  his  father  was 
proprietor  of  that  woolen  mill.  It  was  erected  by 
his  grandfather  in  the  last  quarter  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  and  before  he  was  born  it  had  given  employ 
ment  to  four  hundred  hands  in  the  manufacture  of 
friezes,  flannels,  tweeds  and  blankets  ;  it  had  paid 
wages  to  the  amount  of  twenty  thousand  pounds  a  year, 
and  its  annual  product  of  man  ufactured  goods  was  more 
than  fifty  thousand  pounds.  It  was  now  the  central 
ruin  of  the  ruins,  amid  the  squalid  cabins  of  the  poor, 
amid  broken  hearts  and  famishing  human  beings, 
sheltering  the  living  skeletons  of  the  fever  patients; 
a  ghastly  monument  to  the  memory  of  national  in 
dustry;  a  painful  reminder  of  the  happy  and  prosper 
ous  days  of  protective  tariffs  and  bounties  under 
native  government. 

A  crowd  of  neighbors,  old  and  young,  escorted 
him  out  of  town,  and  loud  were  the  wailings  and 
bitter  the  tears  when  the  time  for  parting  came. 

The  party  halted  at  the  cross-roads,  where  the 
highway  that  led  to  Carrick  turned  at  right  angles 
from  the  great  stone  wall  that  enclosed  Lord  Mount 
Packenham's  demesne.  The  spot  was  shaded  by 
ancestral  beeches  and  elms ;  and  here  at  this  cross 
road,  under  the  generous  shade,  full  fifty  times,  in  the 
happy  days  of  his  boyhood,  before  the  famine  came, 
he  had  led  the  dance  to  the  music  of  blind  Ned 
Murtagh's  bagpipes.  Here  the  crowd  would  assem- 


18  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

ble  even  on  Sunday  afternoons,  contrary  to  the  wishes 
of  Father  Joe,  and  beat  the  road  to  the  tune  of  Irish 
jigs  and  reels,  with  hearts  as  light  as  if  those  blissful 
days  were  never  to  be  succeeded  by  days  and  nights 
of  suffering  and  of  sorrow.  Here  it  was  he  bade  his 
friends  farewell,  and  during  the  afternoon  of  the  same 
day  he  crossed  the  Shannon  River  and  entered  the 
town  of  Carrick. 

There  was  music  in  the  street — the  shrill  sweet 
strains  of  the  fife  corps,  with  kettledrum  accompani 
ment.  At  the  head  of  the  band  marched  a  sergeant 
of  the  British  army,  a  gallant  looking,  soldierly  man, 
with  a  white  cockade  in  his  cap,  and  silken  streamers 
of  red,  white  and  blue  depending  on  the  side  of  his 
head,  under  the  cockade.  In  his  right  hand  he  held 
perpendicularly  a  sabre,  and  on  the  point  of  the  sabre 
there  was  a  purse,  which,  according  to  the  announce 
ment  of  the  sergeant,  contained  ten  British  sover 
eigns.  The  recruiting  party  halted  near  the  market 
place,  and  the  sergeant  delivered  his  message  to  the 
assembled  crowd. 

"  'Ere  you  are,  my  'arties — 'ere's  your  h 'oppor 
tunity.  Ten  pounds  bounty ;  thirteen  pence  a  day  ; 
plenty  of  fine,  fat  beef,  and  the  life  of  a  gentleman." 

John  Dillon  stood  upon  the  curbstone,  and  the 
sergeant  and  himself,  both  soldierly  men,  viewed 
each  other  in  mutual  admiration.  Not  a  word  was 
uttered  between  them,  until  Dillon  stepped  into  the 
street  and  extended  his  arm  with  up-turned,  open 
palm.  The  sergeant  raised  his  hand  and  deposited 
the  "  Saxon  shilling"  in  the  hand  of  the  new  recruit. 
John  Dillon  passed  the  medical  examination,  trans- 


IRISii   REPUBLICANISM.  19 

• 

mitted  the  ten  pounds  bounty  to  his  wife,  and  three 
days  later  donned  the  scarlet  coat  of  the  English  in 
fantry  at  the  depot  in  Athlone.  After  learning  the 
facings  and  manual  of  arms,  he  joined  his  regiment 
in  Dublin — the  First  Battalion  of  the  Eighty-seventh 

Foot,  the  historic  faugh-an-beallagks* 

* 
*     * 

rt  Order  reigned  in  Warsaw."  Ten  thousand  soldiers 
garrisoned  the  city  of  Dublin,  and  thirty  thousand 
additional  bayonets  preserved  the  peace  of  Ireland. 
The  flagstones  of  the  ancient  capital  fairly  trembled 
beneath  the  tread  of  infantry,  cavalry,  artillery,  and 
engineers.  The  ordinary  barrack  accommodation 
was  utterly  insufficient,  and  many  of  the  great  build 
ings  formerly  used  as  factories,  now  vacant  under  the 
operation  of  England's  free-trade  policy,  were  utilized 
temporarily  as  military  quarters.  The  great  houses 
occupied  by  wealthy  manufacturers,  by  merchants  and 
aristocrats,  in  the  days  of  Ireland's  national  and  in 
dustrial  independence  under  Grattan's  Parliament, 
were  now  converted  into  sleeping  apartments  for 
England's  soldiery.  The  deserted  halls  of  manu 
facture  and  trade  in  the  "liberties,"  and  the  once 
famous  "Linen  Hall,"  were  occupied  by  detachments. 
The  old  Aldborough  House,  once. the  home  and 
haunts  of  Irish  aristocratic  mirth,  gaiety  and  beauty, 
become  the  temporary  quarters  of  the  military.  The 
Bank  of  Ireland,  formerly  the  old  Parliament  House, 
had  cannon  mounted  upon  the  entablatures  of  its 
stately  ionic  colonnades,  and  the  spacious  and  splen 
did  custom  house  where  Ireland,  in  Grattan's  time, 
and  down  to  1820,  had  collected  her  protective  duties 


20  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

• 

upon  English  and  other  foreign  merchandise,  having 
passed  out  of  use  for  revenue  purposes  (the  export 
and  import  trade  of  Ireland  being  now  exclusively 
with  England),  was  conveniently  utilized  as  barracks 
and  an  arsenal.  The  streets  of  Dublin  were  the 
scenes  of  daily  military  parades.  Squadrons  of  hus 
sars,  lancers  and  dragoons  galloped  through  the 
principal  thoroughfares  of  the  city  ;  infantry  prac 
ticed  platoon  firing  in  the  squares ;  great  cannons 
were  constantly  moving  over  the  pavements,  and  the 
light  artillery  gave  the  populace  daily  exhibitions  of 
how  dexterously  they  could  load  and  fire. 

Ireland  had  produced,  in  the  year  1847,  agricultural 
products  of  the  value  of  nearly  forty-five  million  pounds 
sterling  (two  hundred  and  twenty-five*  million  dol 
lars) — sufficient  to  feed  more  than  twice  her  popula 
tion  ;  yet  in  that  same  year  five  hundred  thousand 
human  beings  had  perished  of  famine  and  typhus 
fever  in  a  land  that  was  teeming  with  food. 

Indian  meal  came  into  Dublin  Bay  in  clipper  ships 
from  America,  but  for  every  cargo  of  the  meal  that 
entered  the  harbor  of  Dublin,  ten  cargoes  of  Irish 
produce  went  out ;  beef,  and  butter,  and  bacon,  the 
finest  that  the  world  yields,  went  to  England,  where 
a  people,  engaged  in  manufactures  and  commerce, 
had  money  to  pay  for  food. 

It  was  in  early  spring  in  the  year  1848  that  a 
great  meeting  convened  at  Music  Hall  in  Dublin, 
for  the  expressed  purpose  of  "  considering  the  peril 
of  the  country  ; "  but  for  the  actual  purpose  of  beg- 
ing  concessions  from  the  British  Parliament.  The 
parliamentary  agitators  and  loyal  sycophants  in- 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  21 

tended  to  pass  some  sugar-coated  resolutions  and 
expressions  of  loyalty  to' the  Crown,  in  the  hope  of 
securing-  legislative  favors. 

This  was  precisely  what  the  English  government 
desired.  That  government  had  but  recently  con 
ferred  a  favor  (?)  upon  Ireland,  by  the  repeal  of  the 
corn-laws;  so  that  "suffering  Ireland,"  as  Lord  John 
Russell  argued,  "might  have  cheaper  bread;"  as  if 
every  well-informed  Irishman  did  not  know  that  the 
repeal  of  the  corn-laws  was  the  "last  straw"  in  free- 
trade  legislation  that  "broke  the  camel's  back"  in 
Ireland.  Ireland  had  bread  to  sell,  and  the  repeal  of 
the  import  duties  which  cheapened  the  Englishman's 
loaf,  reduced  the  income  of  the  Irishman  who  'had 
wheat  to  sell,  precisely  in  the  measure  of  the  import 
duty. 

An  English  treasury  clerk  named  Trevelyan  had 
been  sent  over  to  Ireland  that  he  might  write  to  the 
London  press,  asking  Queen  Victoria  to  issue  a  royal 
letter,  imploring  for  Ireland  alms  in  all  the  churches 
of  England  upon  a  certain  day  that  had  been  ap 
pointed  by  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  as  a  day 
of  thanksgiving  to  God  for  the  abundant  harvest. 

Richard  O'Gorman,  who  subsequently  became  an 
eminent  lawyer  and  jurist  in  New  York  City,  was 
then  a  very  young  man,  a  resident  of  Dublin,  and  a 
member  of  the  Irish  revolutionary  society.  The 
meeting  called  by  the  Lord  Mayor  at  Music  Hall 
was  intended  to  be  of  the  strictly  constitutional  sort ; 
but  young  O'Gorman  arose  and  put  an  end  to  the 
meaningless  platitudes  and  "blundering  amend 
ments  "  by  a  resolution  to  this  effect : 


2L  EKIN  MOK:    THE   STOKY  OF 

"  The  one  great  want  and  demand  of  Ireland  is, 
that  foreign  legislators  and  foreign  ministers  shall  no 
longer  interfere  in  the  management  of  her  affairs." 

And  he  followed  his  resolution  with  a  powerful 
and  indignant  speech ,  concluding  as  follows  : 

"  But  the  truth,  my  lord,  must  be  told,  and  the 
truth  is  that  Ireland  starves  and  perishes  because 
England  has  eaten  us  out  of  house  and  home.  It 

o 

is  for  that  sole  end  they  have  laid  their  grasp  upon 
Ireland,  and  it  is  for  that,  and  that  alone,  they  will 
try  to  keep  her." 

John  Mitchell,  editor  of  The  Felon,  the  organ  of 
the  Irish  patriots  of  the  period,  spoke  upon  the  pro 
posed  subscription  in  the  British  churches  on  Thanks 
giving  Day.  He  indignantly  uttered  the  protest  of 
the  Irish  people. 

"  It  is  an  impudent  proposal,"  he  said,  "and  ought 
to  be  rejected  with  scorn  and  contumely.  To-mor 
row,  ail  over  broad  England  and  Scotland  and  Wales 
the  people  are  to  offer  their  thanksgiving  for  our 
abundant  harvest,  and  to  fling  us  certain  crumbs  and 
crusts  of  it  for  charity.  Keep  your  alms,  ye  canting 
hypocrites ;  button  your  pockets  upon  the  Irish 
plunder  that  is  in  them,  and  let  the  begging-box  pass 
on.  .  .  .  Once  more  we  scorn,  we  repulse,  we 
curse  all  English  alms,  and  only  wish  these  sen 
timents  of  ours  could  reach,  before  noon  to-morrow, 
every  sanctimonious  thanksgiver  in  England,  Scot 
land  and  Wales." 

Thomas  Francis  Meagher,  who  became  in  after- 
years  a  famous  general  of  the  Union  army  in  Amer 
ica,  enlightened  the  meeting  as  to  the  true  cause  of 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  23 

Irish  famine.  He  said  that  the  abolition  of  native 
government,  followed  by  British  free-trade,  were  the 
underlying  causes  of  the  famine.  He  enumerated 
some  of  the  leading  Irish  industries  that  had  been 
destroyed  by  free-trade.  He  said  : 

"  The  cotton  manufacture  of  Dublin,  which  em 
ployed  fourteen  thousand  operatives,  has  been  des 
troyed  ;  the  stuff  and  serge  manufactures,-  which 
employed  fourteen  hundred  and  ninety-one  opera 
tives,  have  been  destroyed ;  the  calico  looms 
of  Balbriggan  have  been  destroyed ;  the  flannel 
manufacture  of  Rathdrum  has  been  destroyed ; 
the  blanket  manufacture  of  Kilkenny  has  been  des 
troyed  ;  the  camlet  trade  of  Bandon,  which  pro 
duced  one  hundred  thousand  pounds  a  year,  has 
been  destroyed  ;  the  worsted  and  stuff  manufactures 
of  Waterford  have  been  destroyed  ;  the  rateen  and 
frieze  manufactures  of  Carrick-on-Suir  have  been  de 
stroyed.  One  business  alone  thrives  and  flourishes, 
and  dreads  no  bankruptcy  ;  that  fortunate  business 
which  the  Union  Act  has  stood  by  ;  which  the  ab 
sentee  drain  has  not  slackened,  but  has  stimulated  ; 
which  the  drainage  acts  and  navigation  acts  of  the 
imperial  senate  have  not  deadened  but  invigorated  ; 
that  favored,  and  privileged,  and  patronized  business 
is  the  Irish  coffin-maker's." 

The  presence  of  an  army,  and  of  the  crowds  of 
Irish  land-owners  who  then  resided  in  Dublin  for 
peace  of  mind  or  safety's  sake,  somewhat  relieved 
the  appearance  of  squalor  and  distress  among  the 
unemployed  ;  but  in  some  of  the  provincial  towns 
the  general  situation  was  simply  appalling.  Unem- 


24  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY   OF 

ployed  working  people  feasted  upon  the  dead  bodies 
of  horses,  asses  and  dogs.  People  wandered  about 
listlessly,  with  a  stupid  and  despairing  look.  Chil 
dren  looked  like  old  men  and  women,  and  even  the 
lower  animals  seemed  to  feel  the  general  despair  ; 
merriment  totally  disappeared,  and  the  generosity, 
the  gaiety,  the  open-heartedness  and  the  self-reliance 
which  hitherto  characterized  the  Irish  peasant  van 
ished,  and  have  never  fully  returned. 

Boat-loads  of  Irish-born  people,  who  had  lived  for 
years  in  England,  were  hurried  across  the  Channel 
to  their  native  parishes  in  Ireland,  to  render  still 
more  hopeless  the  task  of  relieving  the  impoverished; 
while  ocean  vessels  bore  across  the  seas  to  the  ends 
of  the  earth  the  bone  and  sinew  of  the  Irish  race. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  LAND  OF  PROMISE. 

N  a  certain  morning  in  spring  of  1848, 
Barney  Devoy  was  seen  walking  gaily 
across  the  public  square,  with  a  yellow- 
covered  letter  in  his  hand.  He  walked 
into  the  little  white-washed,  oblong  building  which 
was  at  that  time  occupied  as  a  "soup-school."  There 
was  a  vigor  in  his  step,  and  an  air  of  independence 
on  his  one-story  brow  such  as  no  one  had  ever  wit 
nessed  before.  He  wore  a  West-of-England  broad 
cloth  coat,  which  had,  at  some  former  period,  adorned 
the  portly  figure  of  some  English  businessman  ;  and 
the  stiff  breezes  of  spring  inflated  the  garment  around 
him,  so  that  the  observer  might  regard  it  as  a  coat  or 
a  tent,  according  to  his  fancy.  The  skirt  of  his  Prince 
Albert,  when  in  repose,  ran  down  below  Barney's 
knees,  but  it  was  now  sailing  gloriously  behind  him 
in  the  breeze. 

A  cynical  observer  remarked  that  Barney's  body 
was  "as  straight  as  the  split  in  a  peeler's  poll,"  and 
that  "you  could  sit  and  ride  upon  his  coat-tail." 

The  soup-school  was  a  characteristic  English  in 
stitution.  The  State  having  reduced  the  bodies  of 
the  Irish  by  starvation  into  a  proper  mood  for  re 
pentance,  the  missionary  spirit  followed  up  the  work 
of  conquest  and  spoliation,  Bible  in  hand,  to  confer 
upon  the  souls  of  the  benighted  Celts  the  light  of 
religion,  as  by  law  established.  Religious  education 
was  imparted  to  all  the  wretched  children  who  came, 
and  the  unpalatable  pill  of  the  creed  which  they  ab- 


26  ERIN   MOR:    THE   STORY   OF 

horred  was  washed  down  by  missionary  soup,  fur 
nished  by  those  who  were  devouring  Irish  beef  and 
mutton. 

Devoy,  upon  entering  the  school,  and  without 
deigning  to  notice  the  superintendent,  the  Rev.  Loyd 
Jenkins  Jones,  took  his  two  little  children,  Mike  and 
Francis,  and  led  them  hurriedly  to  the  outer  door. 
Here  Mr.  Jones  crossed  his  path. 

"  Bernard,"  he  said,  with  his  sanctimonious  smile, 
"  the  children  'aven't  'ad  their  soup  this  morning." 

"My  boys  are  no  hands  for  soup,  anyhow,"  snap 
pishly  responded  Barney ;  "  they  never  did  care  about 
soup." 

"  Mr.  Devoy,"  said  the  superintendent,  "  some- 
think  must  'ave  'appened  to  sever  the  pleasant  rela 
tions  'eretofore  h'existing." 

"  You're  jist  whistlin',"  said  Barney;  "allow  me  to 
complimint  ye  on  the  quickness  of  your  parception ;  " 
and  opening  his  American  letter  (for  such  was  the 
contents  of  the  yellow  envelope)  he  displayed  a  pas 
sage  ticket  for  himself  and  wife,  and  his  four  little 
chtldren,  Michael,  Frank,  Anthony,  and  the  baby 
Bridget. 

"  There,"  he  said,  "there's  the  document  of  deliv 
erance — our  passages  and  a  five-pound  note  sent  by 
my  brother  Darby  from  Connecticut." 

Within  a  week  Barney  Devoy  had  chartered  a 
pony  and  cart,  and  was  on  his  way  for  Cork,  en  route 
for  America.  His  family  formed  part  of  a  great  pro 
cession.  Two  hundred  and  fifteen  thousand  Irish 
emigrants  found  their  way  to  America  in  the  single 
year  of  1847.  When  the  famine  was  at  its  worst, 
and  eviction  swept  the  sufferers  out  of  their  hovels, 
they  rushed  in  the  direction  of  the  seaports,  some 
bound  for  America,  some  few  for  Australia,  some  for 
the  continent  of  Europe. 

The  poorest  and   the    feeblest  went  to  England 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  27 

and  to  Scotland,  as  the  nearest  places  of  refuge,  but 
to  the  vast  majority  of  the  fugitives,  America  was 
the  "  Promised  Land.".  The  bosom  of  the  Atlantic 
was  whitened  with  the  sails  of  the  emigrant  ships 
that  bore  them  over  ;  and  such  was  the  mortality 
among  them  in  transit,  that  their  route  of  passage 
might  be  traced  by  the  bones  of,  the  fever-stricken 
dead  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

Not  less  than  a  mi  lion  of  these  exiles  crossed  the 
ocean  and  found  homes  in  America  during  the 
decade  ending  in  1856. 

As  our  story  relates  to  them  and  to  their  descend 
ants,  this  chapter  is  necessarily  a  part  of  the  record, 
as  briefly  stating  the  causes  and  the  circumstances 
that  influenced  their  coming  to,  and  remaining  in  the 
United  States. 

Upon  their  arrival  they  generally  settled  upon  the 
sea-board  as  a  matter  of  necessity,  and  more  than  two- 
thirds  of  that  great  multitude  found  homes  in  the 
region  bounded  on  the  south  by  the  Ohio  River,  and 
on  the  west  by  a  line  drawn  north  and  south  through 
the  western  extremity  of  Pittsburgh. 

Following  some  blind  or  enlightened  instinct, 
perhaps  in  obedience  to  the  general  law  that  men 
will  continue  to  live  where  they  find  least  resistance 
to  living,  they  permanently  settled  in  the  great  indus 
trial  centers  of  New  England,  New  York,  Pennsyl 
vania  and  New  Jersey,  where  Northern  capital 
inaugurated  great  public  improvements,  and  main 
tained  great  manufacturing  industries. 

Hundreds  of  thousands  of  their  race  had  gone  be 
fore,  and  other  multitudes  were  destined  to  follow  ; 
but  the  famine  exiles  founded  the  swarming  colony 
of  Greater  Ireland  on  the  American  side  of  the  At 
lantic. 

They  became  like  a  great  tree  imbedded  in  the 
sandbar  of  some  broad,  shallow  river,  around  whose 


28  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

decaying-  trunk  and  branches  the  drifting  sands  and 
seeds  of  other  generations  found  a  resting  place,  and 
from  which,  in  time,  has  sprung  the  tremendous 
and  incomprehensible  power  which  the  politicians 
conveniently  designate  as  "the  Irish  vote"  in 
America.  Barney  Devoy  and  his  children  were 
drops  in  the  human  streams  that  rushed  from  the 
interior  to  the  sea. 

Somewhere  near  the  borders  of  Limerick  and 
Clare,  near  the  head-waters  of  the  Shannon  estuary, 
Devoy's  party  was  augmented  by  a  family  named 
Sullivan,  consisting  of  husband  and  wife  and  four 
small  children,  named  James,  Jerry,  Margaret  and 
Mary.  Tom  Sullivan,  the  head  of  the  family,  was 
by  trade  a  stone-mason  ;  a  sturdy  man,  about  fifty 
years  of  age.  He  was  dressed  in  Irish  frieze,  with 
knee-breeches  of  "  doe-skin,!'  long  woolen  stockings 
and  low  shoes.  His  legs  displayed  the  muscles  of  a 
well-fed  mechanic  ;  he  carried  his  head  erect,  and 
looked  at  all  he  met  with  an  eye  of  independence 
untamed  by  tyranny  or  the  lordling's  frown.  He 
was  not  poverty-stricken.  His  wages,  though  small, 
had  supported  him,  and  left  him  a  margin  for  the 
"rainy  day."  He  greeted  the  Devoy  family  with  a 
hearty  "  God  save  ye,"  and  received  an  equally  cor 
dial  response  of  "  God  save  ye  kindly."  He  soon 
learned  that  himself  and  Devoy  were  traveling  to 
ward  the  same  destination — New  Limerick,  in  the 
State  of  Connecticut. 

The  ocean  voyage,  from  the  Cove  of  Cork  to 
Cast'e  Garden,  New  York,  was  made  in  six-and- 
thirty  d  lys.  There  were  no  unusual  incidents  on 
the  voyage.  The  five  hundred  and  forty  steerage 
passengers  were  assigned  to  their  foul-smelling  berths, 
around  which*  at  night  they  assembled  in  groups  and 
recited  the  rosary.  There  were  little  disturbances  at 
the  cooking  galleys  from  day  to  day,  but  nothing 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.       ,  29 

noteworthy.  The  young  people  danced  and  sang, 
indulged  in  love-making  and  merry-making ;  and 
only  the  frequent  announcement  of  deaths  aboard 
interfered  with  the  routine. 

Day  after  day  the  solemn  tolling  of  the  ship's  bell 
announced  a  funeral,  and  the  corpses  of  those  who 
had  survived  the  famine  to  die  by  fever  were  sewed 
into  sack-cloth,  and,  duly  weighted  with  shot  or  heavy 
irons,  were  thrown  into  the  ocean,  to  make  a  meal  for 
the  deep-sea  fishes  that  followed  in  the  vessel's  wake. 

There  was  rejoicing  at  the  first  sight  of  the 
promised  land,  and  cheers  went  up  in  gratitude  to 
Heaven  when  the  green  coast  of  Jersey  and  the 
countless  buildings  on  Manhattan  Island  and  Long 

O  «*> 

Island  became  visible  from  the  mouth  of  New  York 
harbor  ;  and  there  were  heartfelt  farewells  when  the 
emigrants  were  scattering  out  of  Castle  Garden. 

The  future  home  of  the  Sullivans  and  the  Devoys 
was  only  a  two-hours  journey  by  omnibus  and  rail 
from  Castle  Garden.  „ 

Near  the  border  line  of  the  states  of  New  York 
and  Connecticut  there  grew  and  flourished  a  pretty 
manufacturing  village,  in  which  a  great  many  of  the 
Irish  exiles  found  a  home.  They  built  a  church, 
from  whose  spire  could  be  seen  the  vessels  sailing  up 
and  down  Long  Island  Sound.  Between  the  village 
and  the  sea  were  many  a  pretty  grove  and  garden, 
and  the  waters  of  the  sound  stole  up  at  high  tide 
between  the  hills,  as  if  the  ocean's  finger  tips  loved 
to  twine  themselves  in  the  summer  verdure  of  New 
England  valleys.  The  Irish  settlers  named  the  vill 
age  New  Limerick  ;  and  though  mapmakers  and 
geographers  would  have  it  otherwise,  New  Limerick 
it  was,  and  rather  than  differ  with  the  early  settlers 
over  the  trifling  matter  of  a  name,  New  Limerick  let 
it  be. 

Manufacturing  there  was  still  in  its  infancy,  though 


30  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

already  there  were  pioneer  ventures  in  the  making 
of  cotton  goods,  cutlery  and  blankets.  The  Irish 
men  found  profitable  employment  in  connection  with 
quarries,  buildings  and  public  roads,  and  in  the  con 
version  of  the  wild  hills  and  valleys  into  the  civilized 
habitations  of  the  wealthy  people  overflowing  from 
the  great  cities,  while  the  larger  boys  and  girls  found 
employment  in  the  mills  and  factories. 

Upon  a  sunny  hillside  was  erected,  at  public  ex 
pense,  a  tasteful  and  commodious  building  for  public 
school  purposes. 

"  Do  you  be  tellin'  me,"  said  Tom  Sullivan  (to  the 
father  of  another  family),  "do  you  mane  to  say,  that 
the  great  big  brick  school  upon  the  hill  is  for  our 
boys  and  girls,  as  well  as  fcr  the  children  of  the 
Yankee?" 

"  That's  what  the  selectman  says,"  replied  the 
party  interrogated. 

"  Be-gorra,  then,"  said  Tom  Sullivan,  "if  that  be 
so  my  Httle  Jimmy  will  be  among  the  first  wans  to 
warm  the  benches.  By  manes  of  an  education,"  he 
added,  "  my  poor  boy,  when  he  becomes  a  man,  may 
be  able  to  avoid  the  black  slavery  and  the  poverty  of 
his  countrymen." 

The  school  was  completed,  and  Tom  Sullivan  was 
as  good  as  his  word.  On  the  opening  day  he  led 
little  Jimmy  to  the  great  building  and  saw  his  hope 
ful  take  a  seat  side  by  side  with  the  son  of  the  village 
banker,  and  with  the  son  of  the  Yankee  millionaire 
by  whom  the  elder  Sullivan  was  employed. 

"You  can  talk  as  you  plaise,"  old  Tom  would  re 
mark,  "  but  America  is  a  wonderful  country.  We 
have  mate  every  day,  there  is  bread  galore  and  fruits 
and  vegetables  and  oysters ;  and  I  heard  Mr.  Cheney, 
of  the  factory,  remark  wan  day,  that  some  day  my 
little  Jim  may  be  a  mimber  of  the  Connecticut  Par- 
lement." 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  31 

Little  Jim  had  a  head  and  a  heart  in  thorough 
sympathy  with  his  father's  passionate  desire  to  see 
the  children  educated,  and  within  a  year  from  the 
date  of  his  admission  to  the  school,  he  could  read 
the  Boston  Pilot  for  his  father  and  the  neighbors. 

Sullivan  would  say  :  "  My  Jimmy  is  the  boy  can 
give  ye  chapther  and  verse.  When  I  come  to  me 
supper  of  an  evening,  and  the  bigger  boys  and  girls 
come  home  from  the  factory,  and  shed  their  workin' 
clothes,  and  put  on  their  clane  linens  for  the  evenin', 
then  Bridget  sets  the  table  wid  the  nice  white  cloth, 
and  the  glassware  and  the  pitcher  of  water,  and  while 
I'm  aitin'  me  beautiful  quarther  section  of  beefstake, 
and  me  half  an  acre  of  apple  pie,  wid  the  bread  and 
fruit,  and  other  fine  things — as  fine  a  dinner  as  iver  a 
landlord  had  at  home — its  little  Jim  will  take  the 
evenin'  paper,  and  read  about  the  California  gold 
mines,  and  the  doin'  of  Congress,  and  the  blessed 
memories  of  the  ould  art."  And  the  father  would 
glorify  God,  that  if  the  Creator  had  seen  fit  to  drive 
them  from  a  lovely  land,  He  had  more  than  compen 
sated  them  by  happy  homes  in  free  America. 


CHAPTER  V. 

DEVOY  BECOMES  A  POLITICAL  LEADER. 

H,  man,  it's  in  Mullingar  you'd  see  the  stir 
about.  If  you  broke  a  spoon,  the  divil  a 
a  word  they'd  say,  but  hand  you  another." 
This  sentence  was  the  keynote  of  Mr. 
Barney  Devoy's  argument  whenever  a  dis 
cussion  on  the  subject  of  free-trade  led  him  to  com 
pare  the  superior  advantages  of  living  in  Ireland  with 
the  privations  of  American  laborers. 

"Oh,  man,  it's  in  Ireland  you'd  see  the  English 
broadcloth.  It's  there  you'd  get  a  coat  big  enough 
to  cover  a  bull  for  two  pound  ten."  And  he  would 
rush  into  a  closet,  and  without  any  indication  or  sug 
gestion  of  shame  or  mortification,  would  exhibit  the 
cast-off  English  coat  which  had  been  given  him  in 
charity  by  the  Rev.  Loyd  Jenkins  Jones,  the  English 
superintendent  of  the  soup-school. 

Tom  Sullivan,  who  was  thoroughly  satisfied  with 
life  in  America,  and  deeply  grateful  to  the  American 
people,  would  venture  on  these  occasions  to  say  a 
good  word  for  America,  and  to  remind  Mr.  Devoy 
of  the  sufferings  at  home  under  free-trade  and  famine. 

ft  Famine?  famine?  famine?  where  was  the 
famine?  Sure,  there  never  was  a  famine  in  Ireland. 
It's  full  and  plenty  they  had  at  home,  lashins  and 
lavins  galore,  wid  the  finest  English  broadcloth  and 
Scotch  tweeds  to  wear." 

And  the  crowd  of  Barney's  political  supporters 
would  rise  indignantly  to  protest  against  any  sug 
gestion  of  hard  times  in  Ireland.  None  of  them 
had  ever  before  heard  of  famine,  and  if  party  neces 
sity  demanded  it,  they  stood  ready  to  prove  that  the 
country  roads  were  paved  with  four-pound  loaves, 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  33 

and  that  three  millions  of  the  race  had  emigrated 
just  for  a  change  of  air  and  relief  from  a  diet  of  roast 
beef,  turkeys  and  terrapin. 

il  Barney,"  inquired  an  American  gentleman,  "have 
you  any  lobsters  in  Ireland  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  responded  Mr.  Devoy;  "  the  rivers  and 
bog-holes  are  red  wid  'em." 

"Yes;  but,  Barney,  you  know  that  the  lobsters 
inhabit  the  sea." 

"  Yes,  sir,  they  go  down  from  the  rivers  and  bog- 
holes  to  the  say.  What's  to  hinder  'em  ?" 

"Oh,  nothing;  but  you  know  the  lobster  when 
raw  is  not  red ;  it  becomes  red  when  boiled." 

"Certainly.  There  are  boilin'  springs  in  the  Irish 
waters,  and  the  lobsters  get  red  in  passin'  through 
the  springs." 

Mr.  Devoy,  with  a  look  of  triumph,  would  then 
compliment  the  crowd  as  u  the  finest  pisintry  that 
the  sun  of  God  looks  down  upon,"  and  would  lead 
them  up  for  "the  wettin'  of  their  whistles"  at  the 
James  Buchanan  Exchange. 

There  was  an  Irish  blacksmith,  named  Peter  Mcln- 
tyre,  commonly  called  "  Peter  the  Pagan,"  who,  on 
these  occasions,  took  Sullivan's  view  of  the  case.  He 
was  an  educated  man,  thoroughly  conversant  with 
American  and  Irish  history;  and  whenever  he  told 
them  the  truth  as  to  the  destruction  of  Irish  indus 
tries  by  British  law  and  policy,  he  raised  around  him 
a  storm  of  indignation. 

Meanwhile,  Barney  Devoy  became  prosperous  in 
the  liquor  business.  He  was  the  recognized  leader 
in  his  ward,  and  was  reputed  to  have  "a  big  pull" 
with  the  Democratic  powers  of  New  Limerick.  And 
so  the  irritating  discussions  were  continued  day  after 
day  and  night  after  night.  Old  Barney  was  forever 
boasting  of  the  superior  advantages  of  life  in  Ire 
land.  Whenever  Tom  Sullivan  eulogized  the  New 


34  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

England    pies,  old    Barney    cut    him    short    with — 

"Ah,  man,  it's  in  Ireland  you  would  see  the  pies." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  Tom  would  respond,  "oh,  yes,  in  the 
bakers'  windows." 

"  So  near,  and  yet  so  far,"  added  little  Jim. 

"Yes,  ma  bouchal"  Tom  Sullivan  added;  "our 
people  can  fly  in  the  face  of  God  as  much  as  they 
plaise  ;  they  can  put  on  their  foolish  pride  ;  but  there 
is  no  country  like  this.  They  can  talk  of  things  at 
home  to  their  hearts'  content,  but  God  never  gave  to 
the  world  a  country  like  America." 

Old  Devoy  had  attended  a  meeting  addressed  by 
one  of  the  college  professors  from  New  Haven.  A 
society  of  English  manufacturers  had  offered  a  prize 
for  the  best  essay  on  "  Free-trade,"  and  this  professor 
had  arisen  to  the  occasion. 

The  subject  of  the  discourse  was  "  Cheapness." 
The  professor  dilated  on  the  cheapness  of  things  in 
Europe — "  potatoes  only  four  pence  a  stone." 

"And  devilish  hard  to  get  the  four  pence,"  said 
Sullivan. 

"And  the  cheapness  of  the  beautiful  Irish  apples," 
said  Devoy. 

"  Oh  ! — an*  its  apples  are  so  chape,"  said  Sullivan. 
"  They  have  beautiful  apples  in  Ireland,  but  Barney, 
avic,  how  much  of  them  did  you  and  I  get  ?  I  lived 
in  sightin'  distance  o'  wan  of  the  finest  orchards  in 
Limerick,  but  it  was  enclosed  by  a  twelve-foot  wall, 
and  guarded  by  a  game-keeper  and  a  bull-dog.  I 
saw  the  trees  bloom  in  spring-time  ;  I  have  stood  be 
side  the  wall — on  the  outside — in  the  autumn,  till  I 
was  wet  wid  the  dripping  of  the  dew  from  the 
branches,  and  tantalized  by  the  odor  of  the  fruit,  but 
the  winter  came — and  the  divil  an  apple.  What's 
the  good  of  your  chapeness  if  there's  no  labor  for 
yer  hands,  and  no  money  to  buy  the  apples?" 

"And  the  fine  tastin'  oysters,"  said  Devoy. 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  35 

"Yes,  in  the  oyster-man's  cart,"  responded  Sulli 
van,  "  lovely  oysters  for  a  shillin'  a  dozen.  The 
divil  a  sowl  I  ever  saw  aitin'  oysthers  in  Ireland  but 
the  landlord,  the  parson,  the  pr  est,  and  the  peelers  ; 
and  when  the  famine  came,  Father  O'Grady  quit 
aitin'  oysthers  and  wid  the  oysther-money  bought 
meal  for  the  poor.  Here,  in  New  Limerick,  its  the 
commonest  thing  in  the  world,  of  a  Saturday  night, 
to  see  the  boys  take  the  cailins  into  the  oyster  par 
lors,  and  fill  them  wid  oysters,  and  the  craythurs  are 
like  a  Connemara  stockin' — the  more  you  stuff  them, 
the  more  they  stretch." 

And  Devoy  sympathized  with  the  Yale  professor 
in  the  desire  for  greater  cheapness  in  English  broad 
cloths. 

*'Arrah,  Barney,  jewel,"  responded  Sullivan,  "aren't 
ye  tired  of  English  broadcloth  ?  And  when  did  you 
take  to  wearin'  broadcloth  ?  When  did  the  common 
people,  at  home,  wear  broadcloth  ?  Mawrone,  avic, 
some  of  them  wore  the  hand-me-downs,  the  cast-off 
clothing  of  the  English,  and  that's  the  only  broad 
cloth  you  or  yours  ever  wore  in  the  ould  art." 

And  so  life  ran  in  New  Limerick,  Gradually  the 
laboring  people  built  cosy  little  cottages  around  the 
factories;  their  children  went  to  school;  there  was 
now  and  then  heard  a  snarl  from  some  of  the  poor 
native  Americans,  but  the  educated  and  the  wealthy, 
the  pious  and  the  refined  of  the  American  people 
sympathized  with  and  assisted  them.  Their  children, 
male  and  female,  wore  clothing  after  the  manner  and 
form  of  the  wealthiest  Americans  ;  until  soon,  at  the 
theaters  and  other  places  of  amusement,  in  the  politi 
cal  meetings,  and  places  of  assembly  generally,  it 
was  only  by  the  physiognomy,  or  the  color  of  their 
countenances,  that  one  was  enabled  to  distinguish 
between  the  children  of  the  Irish  exiles-  and  those 
of  the  wealthiest  Americans. 


36  ERLN   MOR:    THE  STOEY  OF 

But  the  old  serpent  found  its  way  into  this  new 
paradise.  Two  factions  sprang  into  existence — the 
Sullivans  and  the  Devoys.  Tom  Sullivan  had  two 
sons,  Jim  and  Jerry  ;  and  Barney  had  three  sons. 
The  oldest,  F.  X.  (Francis  Xavier),  was  an  ecclesias 
tical  student;  the  next  one,  Albert  Michael,  had 
opened  a  money-lending  office,  where  it  was  said 
that  he  kept  "  a  brick-bat  to  grind  the  face  of  the 
poor ; "  and  the  youngest  son,  Tony,  assisted  his 
father  in  dispensing  liquid  nourishment  at  the  James 
Buchanan  Exchange.  Tom  Sullivan  and  his  two 

o 

boys  lived  by  their  manual  labor.  They  were  not 
factionists,  but  of  that  "  homely  plodding  cast  who 
labored  hard  to  make  up  by  assiduity  all  that  they 
wanted  in  wit."  Their  crime,  in  the  eyes  oT  Mr. 
Devoy,  was  that  they  appreciated  the  advantages  of 
their  American  home  and  fraternized  with  the  Yan 
kees.  It  was  whispered  around  that  the  Sullivans 
were  slandering  the  Irish  ;  that  old  Tom  had  de 
clared  that  he  "  had  lived  forty  years  in  Ireland,  and 
never  tasted  a  pie  ;"  that  his  son  Jim  was  seen  in 
the  company  of  Methodists,  and  was  a  probable  can 
didate  for  holy  orders  in  that  denomination.  It  was 
further  hinted  that  old  Sullivan  was  on  friendly  terms 
with  Cheney,  the  mill-man  ;  and  that  on  last  election 
day  he  had  permitted  Mr.  Cheney  to  put  a  stratch 
upon  the  Democratic  ticket  which  Mr.  Devoy  had 
handed  to  him  all  straight  and  undefiled. 

The  Devoys  were  influential,  and  the  Sullivans 
instinctively  avoided  a  conflict  with  them  ;  and  if 
there  was  a  Sullivan  faction,  it  came  into  existence 
without  their  sanction,  and  purely  out  of  sympathy 
w:th  a  worthy  old  Irishman  and  his  two  estimable 
boys.  The  Devoys  were  aggressive,  and  combined 
all  the  elements  of  power  in  politics. 

Old  Barney  had  a  tongue  like  an  adder  ;  Francis 
Xavier,  being  intended  for  the  church,  contributed 
sanctity,  and  commanded  d'  ference  ;  while  the  father 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  37 

engendered  fear.  Albert  Michael  was  at  once  a 
petty  banker  and  a  pawnbroker  ;  while  young  Tony 
wielded  his  far-reaching  influence  through  the  liquid 
nourishment  at  the  James  Buchanan  Exchange. 
For  any  man  to  seek  a  Democratic  nomination  with 
out  the  consent  and  approval  of  the  Devoys  were 
futile  as  the  effort  of  the  camel  to  pass  through  the 
eye  of  the  needle.  If  he  would  succeed,  he  must 
first  make  Barney  his  financial  agent,  and  obtain  a 
loan,  from  Albert  Michael,  and  with  the  blessing  of 
Francis  Xavier  upon  his  undertaking,  go  down  to 
young  Tony  and  invest  the  borrowed  money.  The 
Sullivans  timidly  abstained  from  active  participation 
in  politics  ;  so  their  sin  was  not  so  much  a  thing  of 
commission  as  a  failure  to  acknowledge  the  sway  of 
the  Devoys,  and  thereby  place  themselves  in  har 
mony  with  the  party. 

Old  Sullivan  would  shake  his  head  in  genuine 
solicitude  for  the  future  of  the  colony.  u  Bad  luck 
to  yer  politics,"  he  said,  "and  a  shame  upon  yer 
gratitude.  Ye  came  among  these  Yankees.  They 
built  factories,  and  opened  all  kinds  of  improvements ; 
they  gave  ye  labor  for  yer  hands,  money  in  yer 
pockets,  and  bread  for  yer  families;  and  just  as  soon 
as  ye  get  the  wrinkles  out  of  yer  hides,  and  the  look 
of  hunger  out  of  yer  faces,  ye  turn  upon  them  wid 
yer  politics,  and  run  counther  to  their  interests  and 
their  wishes.  Ye  ask  me  if  I'm  a  Dimicrat.  Yes, 
I'm  a  Dimicrat,  av  coorse  ;  but  if  dimocracy  manes 
war  wid  the  wealth  and  dacency  of  New  Limerick, 
I  may  scratch  me  ticket.  If  Mr.  Cheney  or  Mr. 
Devoy  is  to  boss  this  town,  give  me  the  dacent 
Yankee  every  time." 

One  of  the  things  that  Tom  Sullivan  could  not 
understand  was>the  meaning  of  the  curse,  the  nature 
of  the  original  sin,  that  prompted  many  of  the  exiles 
into  hostility  to  the  Yankees  among  whom  they  had 
made  their  home. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

KNOWNOTHINGISM. 

HE  new  brick  church  building  of  St.  Lo 
yola  occupied  a  sightly  position  in  the 
center  of  New  Limerick. 

A  gambler  named  Billy  Percival,  from 
the  city  of  Baltimore,  established  a  keno 
room,  with  saloon  attachment,  across  the  street  from 
the  sacred  edifice.  So  the  young  men  who  attended 
mass  on  Sundays  were  not  compelled  to  go  much  out 
of  their  way  when  they  sought  a  little  amusement. 
Mr.  Percival's  mind  was  richly  stored  with  the  lite 
rature  and  vocabulary  of  Baltimore  politics,  and  he 
was  accustomed  to  edify  the  minds  of  the  Irish- 
American  youth  with  all  the  funny  compliments  paid 
to  the  nigger  and  the  Yankee  in  the  bar-rooms  of 
Baltimore.  In  recognition  of  his  pronounced  De 
mocracy,  he  secured  the  support  and  fidelity  of  his 
customers,  and  in  brief  time  he  became  the  proprietor 
of  a  powerful  pull  with  the  "  Irish  vote/'  They  ral 
lied  to  his  support  on  election  day,  and  made  him  a 
member  of  the  town  council. 

A  little  colony  of  weavers,  from  the  Irish  city  of 
Londonderry,  established  a  lodge  of  a  certain  loyal 
organization  which  had  brought  much  grief  and 
shame  to  the  good  name  of  Ireland.  In  America 
they  called  it  the  "A.  P.  A."  It  was  observed  that 
Mr.  Percival  was  on  intimate  terms  with  the  mem 
bers  of  the  "A.  P.  A.;"  and  was  further  remarked 
that  he  temporarily  neglected  the  keno  game  and 
engaged  in  a  mysterious  activity  in  public  affairs.  It 
was  understood  that  he  had  established  some  sort  of 
secret  political  lodge  on  his  own  account,  and  he 
might  be  seen  in  the  darkness  of  night  engaged  in 
earnest  whisperings,  warning  his  friends  to  beware  of 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  39 

the  Catholics.  But  when  any  of  these  men  were 
questioned  as  to  the  subject  of  the  conversation,  or 
as  to  Mr.  Percival's  lodge,  they  merely  shook  their 
heads  and  said,  "  I  know  nothing."  Similar  proceed 
ings  were  observable  in  various  parts  of  the  country, 
so  that  in  time,  for  want  of  a  better  name,  Mr.  Per 
cival's  brethren  of  the  secret  order  were  generally 
styled  "The  Knownothings."  In  1856  that  power 
ful  organization  "showed  its  hand"  in  politics  as  the 
"  Native  American  Party."  It  was  especially  power 
ful  in  the  South.  The  old  slave  states  gave  its 
presidential  candidate  nearly  half  a  million  votes,  and 
gave  to  him  the  electoral  vote  of  the  State  of  Mary 
land.  Its  strongholds  were  cities  like  Baltimore, 
Louisville  and  St.  Louis — cities  that  were  then,  and 
are  now,  most  powerfully  Democratic.  It  was 
numerically  strong  in  certain  parts  of  New  England 
and  the  Middle  States;  but  in  the  new  States  of  the 
West,  where  Republicanism  was  well  organized, 
Knownothingism  never  made  much  headway.  This 
was  equally  true  of  certain  New  England  States. 
It  received  less  than  four  thousand  votes  in  the  State 
of  Maine,  while  Maryland  gave  its  candidate  forty- 
seven  thousand  votes,  and  the  electoral  vote  of  the 
State.  It  originated  in  the  South,  in  the  nature  of 
a  Democratic  bolt.  When  O'Connell  scornfully  re 
fused  the  proffered  gold  of  the  slave-holders  for  his 
Irish  movement  for  repeal  of  the  Union,  the  slave 
holders  became  indignant,  and  the  Irish  rallying  cry 
of  "  Ireland  for  the  Irish"  was  paraphrased  by  the 
counter-cry  of  "America  for  the  Americans." 

In  the  North  it  was  animated  by  an  entirely  dif 
ferent  motive.  In  the  industrial  centers  it  became  a 
question  of  I  read  and  butter,  of  life  and  death.  The 
prosperity  which  the  United  States  had  enjoyed 
during  the  decade  ending  in  1856  had  disappeared. 
This  prosperity,  despite  the  low  tariff  revenue  system, 


40  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

had  been  maintained  by  several  causes,  particularly 
the  demand  for  American  agricultural  produce,  cre 
ated  by  short  crops  in  Europe  ;  by  the  Crimean 
War  (1854-56),  and  by  gold  discoveries  in  California 
(1849),  which  attracted  a  large  tide  of  labor  from 
competition  with  the  workmen  in  the  East,  and  re 
turned  an  immense  flow  of  gold,  aggregating  hun 
dreds  of  millions  of  dollars.  These  causes  of  national 
prosperity  were  at  an  end,  and  the  flow  of  California 
gold  had  disappeared,  had  left  the  country,  had  gone 
to  England  for  manufactured  merchandise  imported 
under  a  low  tariff.  American  workshops  and  fac 
tories  were  shutting  down  ;  American  laborers  walked 
the  streets  of  their  native  cities,  and  famine  was 
impending  in  many  hitherto  prosperous  industrial 
centers. 

The  New  Limerick  Woolen  Mills,  having  closed 
their  doors,  advertised  for  fifty  men  to  repair  certain 
roadways  and  embankments  ;  and  in  addition  to  a 
hundred  Irishmen  who  rushed  for  the  proffered  fifty 
cents  a  day,  four  hundred  skilled  American  work 
men  appeared  upon  the  ground  solicitous  for  em 
ployment  upon  any  terms.  Bill  Percival,  the  gambler 
and  Democratic  wheel-horse,  appeared  at  their  head, 
and  many  of  them  were  armed  with  bludgeons,  and 
not  a  few  with  knives  and  pistols.  At  the  demand 
of  Mr.  Percival,  Mr.  Cheney,  of  the  mills,  was  com 
pelled  to  hang  a  sign  at  the  gate  of  the  institution, 
reading  

NO  IRISH  NEED  APPLY! 


The  Irish,  without  weapons,  and  in  such  inferior 
numbers,  discreetly  retired.  The  native  American 
workingmen,  suffering  from  the  depression  in  manu 
facturing,  were  led  to  believe  that  their  misfortunes 
were  due  to  the  foreign  immigrants,  especially  to  the 
swarming  Irish,  and  while  they  were  moved  by  mo- 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  41 

tives  purely  personal,  the  anti-Catholic  cry  was  raised 
by  the  Southern  gambler  and  the  little  colony  of 
Londonderry  weavers. 

During-  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  there  were 
mysterious  movements  among  Percival  s  followers, 
and  a  rallying  at  the  keno  room.  It  was  rumored 
that  an  attempt  would  be  made  that  night  to  burn 
the  new  Catholic  church,  and  this  rumor  was  ap 
parently  verified  when  an  excited  crowd,  armed  with 
various  weapons,  appeared  just  after  night-fall  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  church.  The  Irish,  with  shot-guns, 
blu  Igeons  and  implements  of  their  labor,  rallied  to 
the  support  of  Father  Ventura. 

"  My  brethren,"  he  said,  "  do  not  be  solicitous  for 
me.  Take  your  places  at  the  church;"  and  they 
entered  the  church,  removing  the  sacred  vessels  and 
vestments,  and  barricading  the  door  and  windows. 
Percival  had  started  a  report  that  Father  Ventura 
had  recently  imported  some  instrument  of  torture, 
intending  to  establish  the  work  of  the  Spanish  In 
quisition  in  America.  The  object  of  the  mob  was  to 
capture  the  instrument  of  torture.  Percival  led  the 
way.  Father  Ventura  appeared  at  the  door  of  his 
residence  in  response  to  the  calls  of  the  mob.  Mr. 
Percival  demanded  the  instrument  of  torture. 

11  Since  you  have  seen  it  so  lately,  and  marked  it 
so  particularly,  you  can  certainly  identify  it,"  said  the 
priest.  "  Walk  in,  Mr.  Percival." 

The  political  leader  entered  the  parsonage,  and  in 
a  moment  re-appeared,  dragging  with  him  a  frame 
work  of  iron. 

"Why,  Percival,  you  fool,"  said  one  of  his  com 
panions,  "-that  is  an  iron  bedstead." 

At  this  discovery  the  crowd  broke  forth  in  cheers. 

"  Iron-ical  cheers,"  said  Father  Ventura. 

This  happy  incident  put  the  natives  in  good  humor, 
so  they  abandoned  the  purpose  of  burning  the  church. 


42  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

At  the  next  municipal  election  Mr.  Barney  Devoy 
was  pitted  against  Mr.  Percival  as  candidate  for 
alderman  in  the  first  ward  ;  and  the  native  American 
candidate  won  by  a  narrow  majority.  There  was  a 
torchlight  procession  to  celebrate  the  victory,  and 
again  the  rumor  spread  that  the  followers  of  Percival, 
aided  by  the  Londonderry  weavers,  would  fire  the 
church  of  St.  Loyola  ;  and  again  the  Irish  rallied  to 
its  defense,  but  they  were  happily  disappointed.  No 
effort  was  made  to  destroy  the  church,  but  by  way  of 
diversion,  the  victorious  party  did,  on  their  return 
march,  set  fire  to  the  frame  shanty  erected  by  Barney 
Devoy  near  the  town  meeting-house,  and  operated 
by  him  as  a  tavern. 

They  also  enjoyed  themselves  by  unmercifully 
pounding  old  Tom  Sullivan,  the  most  respectable  and 
well-meaning  Irishman  in  New  Limerick.  Mr.  Devoy 
was  wrathful.  He  never  forgot  nor  forgave  that  de 
feat  ;  and  though  his  Knownothing  victors  came 
chiefly  from  the  Democratic  party,  and  were  re- 
absorbed  into  that  party  in  1861,  old  Barney  insisted 
forever  afterwards  that  the  Knownothings  and  Re 
publicans  were  identical. 

He  delighted  to  pose  as  a  religious  martyr. 

"  Baiten,"  he  would  say  in  a  tone  of  resignation, 
"on  account  of  me  religion;"  and  he  would  gently 
draw  an  Irish- American  youth  into  an  alley  or  a  hall 
way,  and  enlighten  him  on  Republican  hostility  to 
his  "  religion." 

The  effort  which  sought  to  identify  Knownothing- 
ism  with  the  party  of  Lincoln  and  of  Logan,  of  Grant 
and  of  Blaine,  has  done  duty  among  the  credulous 
Irish  long  enough.  As  a  matter  of  fact,.there  is  no 
more  truth  in  it  than  in  the  similarly  malignant  as 
sumption  that  the  Israelites  crucified  the  Savior. 
Knownothingism  in  the  South  was  political.  In  the 
North  it  was  begotten  of  industrial  depression.  It 


IKISH   KEPUBLICANISM.  43 

bore  some  bitter  fruit;  but  "let  the  dead  past  bury 
its  dead." 

A  time  was  at  hand  when  the  Irish  emigrants  were 

o 

to  be  afforded  an  opportunity  to  prove  their  devotion 
to  America;  when  all  minor  differences  at  the  North 
were  swallowed  in  the  terrible  calamity  of  disunion 
threatening  the  Nation  ;  and  when  the  cry  for  help 
was  sounded  throughout  the  land,  New  Limerick 
was  not  unfaithful  to  America. 


CHAPTER  VII 

• 
WAR. 

'T  was  early  summer  in  New  England,  in  the 
year  1861.  The  rugged  hills  were  clothed 
in  emerald  green  ;  the  small  birds  twittered 
among  the  tender  leaves  of  the  tall  trees  ; 
the  breezes  of  health  were  blowing  inland 
from  Long  Island  Sound  ;  cattle  were  browsing  in 
lazy  peacefulness  in  the  valleys  ;  children  played  as 
their  ancestors  played;  but  in  the  minds  and  faces  of 
men  and  women  there  were  excitement  and  unrest. 
Groups  of  men  were  seen  talking  vigorously  and  with 
serious  faces  on  the  street  corners.  At  sundown  a 
drum-and-fife  corps  played  along  the  main  street  of 
New  Limerick.  A  crowd  of  boys  took  up  the  rear, 
and  throngs  of  men  and  women  followed  upon  the 
sidewalks.  The  band  entered  the  town  "meeting 
house,"  and  the  multitude  followed. 

Rev.  Edward  Morley,  a  young  Methodist  minister, 
called  the  meeting  to  order,  and  on  his  motion  Mr. 
Cheney  was  called  to  preside. 

Mr.  Cheney  said  that  he  would  be  very  brief.      It 


44  ERIN  MOK:    THE   STORY  OF 

was  no  time  for  speech-making1.  Traitor  hands  had 
desecrated  the  Nation's  flag.  It  was  a  time  for  action. 
In  face  of  the  national  danger  it  was  fitting  that  all 
loyal  men  should  put  aside  every  consideration  of 
party  and  race,  and  rally  to  the  defence  of  a  govern 
ment  which,  whatever  be  its  faults,  was  the  best  gov 
ernment  the  world  ever  saw. 

<4I,  myself,"  he  added,  "  am  too  old  for  active 
service.  I  can  only  do  a  man's  duty  as  a  citizen  in 
upholding  the  arm  of  the  government,  but  I  have  an 
only  son,  Charley.  He  is  in  the  hall." 

In  the  body  of  the  hall  rose  a  young  man  and 
a  grey-haired  woman  —  Charley  Cheney  and  his 
mother. 

The  audience  cheered,  and  when  silence  was  re 
stored  the  mother  spoke : 

"  Charley  is  my  boy — my  only  boy — dear  to  my 
heart  as  the  apple  of  the  eye,  but  in  the  course  of 
events  it  is  God's  will  that  his  country  calls  him  to 
defend  its  integrity.  He  desires  to  go,  and  though 
great  the  sacrifice,  he  goes  with  a  mother's  blessing 
and  consent." 

The  audience  renewed  its  cheers  as  Charley,  re 
sponding  to  his  father's  call,  took  his  stand  beside 
the  platform. 

"And  now,  my  countrymen,"  said  Mr.  Cheney, 
"  are  there  any  other  volunteers  ?" 

"  I  have  two  sons,"  said  old  man  Sullivan,   "and" 

but  his   remarks  were  interrupted  with  cheers— 

"and,"  he  continued,  "  I  have  talked  wid  the  boys. 
They  were  very  little  when  they  came  to  Connecti 
cut.  Jim  is  now  a  man,  and  Jerry  is  a  good  stout 
boy.  They  say  they  will  fight  for  America,  and  God 
forbid  that  I  should  hinder  them.  They  are  just  as 
dear  to  me  as  Charley  Cheney  is  to  his  parents  ;  but 
let  it  never  be  said  that  in  the  hour  of  danger  the 
Sullivans  were  false  to  America.  What  d'ye  say,  Jim, 
and  what  d'ye  say,  Jerry  ?" 


IKISH  REPUBLICANISM.  45 

"I  say,"  said  Jim  Sullivan,  "that  I. will  bear  a 
man's  part  in  defence  of  that  flag  (pointing  to  the 
Stars  and  Stripes).  It  is  the  only  flag  I  know.  There 
is  another  flag — the  harp  and  sunburst  of  my  native 
country.  I  love  it  for  my  father's  sake,  but  'tis  not 
my  flag.  It  will  prove  to  me  a  memory  and  an  in 
spiration,  but  in  the  hour  of  this  Nation's  peril  I 
know  but  one  flag — the  banner  that  in  1847  waved 
above  the  ships  that  brought  bread  to  my  famishing 
kindred,  and  that  before  that  time  and  since  gave 
protection  and  shelter  to  millions  of  my  exiled  race." 

And  Jim  Sullivan  strode  up  beside  young  Cheney. 
Little  Jerry  followed,  and,  without  uttering  a  word, 
stood  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  his  brother  Jim. 
Again  the  audience  cheered.  Man  after  man  went 
forward,  until  fifty  names  were  entered  on  the  roll  ; 
and  three  days  later  the  New  Limerick  company 
marched  to  the  depot  to  join  their  regiment,  with 
Charley  Cheney  as  captain  at  their  head,  and  Jim 
Sullivan  as  first  lieutenant. 

On  the  evening  of  the  meeting  at  the  town  hall 
there  was  a  counter  demonstration  up  at  Barney 
Devoy's.  The  James  Buchanan  Exchange,  in  the 
language  of  its  proprietor,  "like  the  Faynix,  had 
risen  from  its  ashes,"  and  the  gambler  Percival,  and 
the  whole  Devoy  family,  with  numerous  supporters 
and  retainers,  had  assembled  at  the  "  Exchange," 
and  were  loud  in  their  denunciation  of  tfre  "  Lincoln 
hirelings." 

Jim  Sullivan  was,  according^  to  the  general  verdict, 
the  most  admirable  youth  in  the  village.  He  had 
graduated  with  honors  from  the  high  school,  and 
while  he  worked  ten  hours  a  day  at  the  woolen  fac 
tory,  he  devoted  every  leisure  hour  to  the  study  of 
literature  and  of  history  ;  and  at  the  time  the  dread 
cry  of  war  was  sounded,  the  whole  Sullivan  family 
were  hoarding  up  their  savings  for  the  purpose  of 


46  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

enabling  hirrf  to  study  law.  He  was  an  athlete  in 
all  the  village  games,  and  a  leader  in  the  village 
lyceum.  He  had  assisted  Father  Ventura  in  the 
collection  of  a  young  men's  library,  and  he  was  sec 
retary  of  the  Young  Men's  Catholic  Association  ;  a 
youth  of  admirable  physical  form,  of  manly  coun 
tenance,  merciful  and  brave,  and  modest  as  he  was 
merciful. 

It  became  the  subject  of  gossip  in  the  village  at 
the  time,  that  when  the  recruits  were  leaving  on  the 
train,  and  when  Laura  Cheney,  the  village  belle,  the 
wealthy  manufacturer's  daughter,  presented  to  Jim 
a  tiny  silken  flag,  she  gave  to  him  quite  as  much 
attention  as  she  gave  to  her  brother  Charley;  and 
that,  when  she  gave  him  the  final  adieu,  a  tear  trickled 
down  her  cheek,  and  her  delicate  frame  trembled 
with  emotion.  In  short,  it  was  said  that  Laura 
Cheney  loved  the  Irish  boy  ;  and  amid  the  excite 
ment  of  the  time,  the  assertion  passed  uncontra- 
dicted,  though  in  "  piping  times  of  peace "  such  a 
rumor  would  startle  and  scandalize  every  Puritan  in 
Connecticut. 

Among  the  kindly  farewell  tokens  given  to  the 
recruits,  young  Jerry  Sullivan  received  a  morocco 
bound,  gilt-edged  Douay  testament  from  the  hands 
of  Mrs.  Cheney;  and  Father  Ventura  invested  him 
with  a  tiny  golden  cross.  Little  Jerry  was  known 
to  all  his  comrades  as  the  "kid;"  for  though  in 
strength  and  size  he  was  a  man,  in  fact  he  was  a 
beardless  youth  less  than  twenty  years  of  age.  On 
reaching  the  field  the  Sullivans,  on  account  of  cer 
tain  old  associations,  were  permitted  to  join  a  regi 
ment  which  subsequently  became  a  part  of  General 
Meagher's  Irish  brigade;  and  Charley  Cheney  and 
his  boys  were  mustered  into  a  regiment  of  Connecti 
cut  cavalry.  Lieutenant-Colonel  Cheney  returned 
from  the  war  in  1865,  covered  with  scars  and  with 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  47 

honors.  He  subsequently  made  his  home  in  one  of 
the  growing  cities  of  the  Missouri  Valley,  where  he 
still  lives,  wealthy,  honorable,  and  honored  among 

men.  *  # 

* 

It  is  an  oft-told  tale,  which  is  current  still  at  Fred- 
ericksburg,  Virginia.  It  has  been  sung  and  written  in 
song  and  story — the  record  of  a  hero's  death,  whose 
name  had  been  forgotten,  but  whose  record  shall  be 
deathless.  The  battle  of  Fredericksburg  was  a  Con 
federate  victory.  During  the  desperate  struggle,  the 
lines  of  the  Union  Army  were  hurled  repeatedly 
against  the  impregnable  heights  in  vain.  Shattered 
and  torn  by  the  Confederate  fire,  they  renewed  the 
assault  again  and  again,  but  to  be  shattered  and  re 
pulsed.  The  Irish  brigade  of  Meagher  occupied  a 
position  before  the  heights  of  St.  Mary.  They 
shared  the  defeat  of  the  Union  Army  with  terribly 
disastrous  results.  Two-thirds  of  the  command  were 
either  killed  or  wounded.  It  was  noticed  that  on 
the  morning  of  the  battle,  though  there  was  neither 
shrub  nor  tree  in  the  vicinity  of  their  camp,  every 
member  of  the  brigade  wore  a  sprig  of  green-of- 
boxwood  in  his  cap.  On  the  morning  of  the  day 
succeeding  the  battle,  the  Confederate  soldiers  came 
down  in  melancholy  curiosity  to  look  over  the  field 
of  the  dead.  The  bodies  of  the  Union  dead  lay  like 
the  sheaves  in  harvest,  ripened  by  the  Southern  sun ; 
but  in  advance  of  the  foremost  line  of  dead  lay  one 
man,  a  stone's  throw  from  the  Confederate  cannon. 
He  lay  face  downward,  and  the  curious  Confederates 
raised  the  body  tenderly,  upturning  the  dead  face  to 
the  light  of  the  sun. 

He  was  no  bearded  veteran,  but  a  beardless  youth, 
and  in  his  cap  they  found  a  sprig  of  boxwood,  still 
unwithered,  and  in  the  pocket  of  his  coat  a  Douay 
testament,  morocco  bound,  finger  worn,  with  faded 


48  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

edges  of  gilt,  and  around  his  neck  a  slender  string  to 
whic;i  was  attached  a  tiny  golden  cross.  And  the 
story  runs  that  they  buried  him  where  he  fell,  with 
cross  and  testament,  and  planted  above  the  rugged 
mound  the  dead  boy's  sprig  of  boxwood.  It  was  the 
body  of  little  Jerry  Sullivan.  It  was  to  this  boy 
that  Benjamin  Harrison,  in  one  of  his  gems  of  cam 
paign  oratory,  at  Indianapolis,  referred  when  he  de 
clared  that  "the  young  soldier  whose  dead  body  lay 
in  advance  of  all  the  rest  before  the  heights  of  Fred- 
ericksburg,  was  no  less  an  American  because  he 
wore  a  sprig  of  green  in  his  cap." 

Brave  men  perish,  but  little  Jerry  Sullivan's  is 
"  One  of  the  few  immortal  names 
That  were  not  born  to  die." 

And  if  this  chapter  shall  to  some  extent  rescue 
that  heroic  name  from  the  countless  thousands  of 
the  nameless  dead,  the  labor  of  the  author  will  not 
be  entirely  in  vain. 

In  the  same  disastrous  battle,  Jim  Sullivan  left  an 
arm  on  the  field  of  Fredericksburg.  On  his  return 
in  1865,  he  was  received  joyfully  by  the  whole 
people. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cheney,  and  the  Lieutenant-Co1onel 
and  Miss  Laura,  were  conspicuous  figures  at  the  re 
ception.  Jim's  modesty  never  forsook  him,  and  when 
the  audience  clamored  for  a  speech,  he  merely  smiled 
and  bowed,  but  the  elder  Cheney  spoke  for  him. 

"  Captain  Sullivan,"  he  said,  "the  sacrifices  of  your 
aged  parents,  the  death  of  your  heroic  brother,  and 
your  own  valor,  which  that  empty  sleeve  attests, 
will  never  be  forgotten  in  New  Limerick  while  grati 
tude  warms  the  breasts  of  Americans.  I  might  justly 
complain  of  the  conduct  of  some  of  your  recreant 
countrymen  ;  but  the  heroism  and  sacrifices  of  Tom 
Sullivan  and  his  sons  can  be  cheerfully  accepted  in 
vicarious  atonement  for  the  sins  of  a  good  many 
Devoys." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

PROSPERITY  AND  PIETY. 

EW  LIMERICK  shared  the  abundant 
prosperity  of  the  war  period.  The  ex 
penses  of  the  government  necessitated 
high  duties  on  imported  merchandise, 
and  under  these  high  tariffs  old  industries 
flourished  and  new  ones  were  created  and  fostered. 
Manufactories  of  carpets,  plated  ware,  furniture  and 
clocks  were  established.  Old  worn-out  farms  in  the 
suburbs  were  converted  into  town  lots,  and  the  banks 
of  Perry  Creek  were  fairly  lined  with  factories. 

A  rolling-mill  for  the  manufacture  of  steel  rails  was 
among  the  contemplated  enterprises.  A  company  of 
Massachusetts  capitalists  had  purchased  Tom  Sulli 
van's  old  apple  orchard  as  a  site  for  the  rolling-mill, 
and  were  only  waiting  for  favorable  legislation  by  Con 
gress  to  commence  the  work  of  construction.  At 
this  time  the  American  people  were  rapidly  build 
ing  railroads  and  importing  the  rails  from  England 
at  a  cost  of  one  hundred  and  sixty  dollars  a 
ton.  American  rail  manufacturers  appeared  be 
fore  Congress  and  urged  that  a  duty  of  twenty- 
eight  dollars  a  ton  be  imposed  on  the  imported 
rails,  as  a  matter  of  protection  and  encouragement 
to  the  contemplated  rolling-mills,  promising  Congress 
at  the  same  time  that  the  ultimate  effect  of  the  tariff 
would  be  a  reduction  in  the  cost  of  steel  rails.  The 
Congressional  campaign  was  in  progress,  and  it  was 
declared,  emphasized  and  understood  by  all  parties 
that  the  issue  was  for  or  against  protection,  and  that 
the  question  of  a  great  rolling-mill  at  New  Limerick 
depended  on  whether  the  district  in  which  it  was 
situated  would  return  to  Congress  a  friend  or  an 
enemy  of  American  industry.  The  fight  for  free- 


50  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

trade  was  inaugurated  at  a  public  meeting-,  addressed 
by  Counseller  Murphy  of  New  York  City,  and  the 
college  professor  from  Yale.  Barney  Devoy  was  one 
of  the  vice-presidents,  and  Francis  Xavier  Devoy 
was  secretary. 

Francis  Xavier  had  become  a  fixture  at  New  Lim 
erick.  Having  completed  his  Latin  course  under  a 
private  tutor,  he  applied  for  admission  at  Fordham 
College,  but  the  lynx-eyed  president  of  that  institu 
tion  gracefully  declined  his  patronage.  The  young 
man  was  accompanied  to  Fordham  by  his  father.  All 
that  wealth  and  the  tailor's  art  could  do  were 
employed  to  give  them  the  best  possible  appearance. 
Barney  was  dressed  in  a  suit  of  English  broadcloth, 
patent  leather  shoes,  plug  hat  and  faultless  linen, 
with  a  watch  chain  heavy  enough  for  logging  pur 
poses  ;  while  the  aspirant  for  theological  honors  wore 
Scotch  tweed,  with  a  fancy  French  vestr  a  forty- 
candle  power  diamond,  blear  eyes  and  a  rose-colored 
nose. 

"  This  boy  of  mine,"  said  Barney  to  the  college 
president,  "has  a  vocation  for  the  clargy,  and  I  have 
brought  him  to  your  Reverence  to  give  him  his  college 


coorse." 


"  And  your  name?"  said  the  president. 
"  Bernard  Devoy,  may  it  plase  you." 
''And  your  residence  and  occupation  ?" 
"  I  am  a  wine  merchant  by  trade,  and  my  home  is 
New  Limerick,  Connecticut." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  president;  "let  Francis 
Xavier  have  a  z/tfcation  for  two  weeks,  and  we  will 
inquire  as  to  the  vocation." 

The  result  of  an  inquiry  on  the  part  of  the  college 
authorities  was  that,  when  Barney  and  the  son 
returned  to  Fordham,  Francis  Xavier  was  politely  but 
very  firmly  refused  admission  into  the  institution,  and 
the  youth,  intended  by  his  parents  to  become  a  shin- 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  61 

ing  light  in  the  church — a  bishop  or  a  cardinal,  per 
haps — was  extinguished  like  a  spark  from  the  black 
smith's  anvil 

The  president,  in  private  consultation  with  the 
elder  Devoy,  gave  him  convincing  proofs  that  the 
youth,  in  addition  to  the  fixed  habit  of  intemperance, 
had  other  habits  fatal  to  the  father's  pious  aspira 
tions  and  ambitions  regarding  him,  and  so  father  and 
son  returned  to  New  Limerick.  On  the  return 
journey,  and  for  days  and  years  that  followed,  in  the 
happiest  hours  of  the  day,  and  through  "  the  silent 
watches  of  the  night,"  the  closing  sentence  of  the  col 
lege  president  kept  ringing  in  the  ears  and  through  the 
chambers  of  Barney's  brain,  though  it  never  reached 
his  heart  It  was:  "  The  wages  of  sin  is  death.  You 
will  not  have  to  wait  for  eternity;  iniquity  brings  its 
own  punishment.  You  can  pile  up  wealth  as  much 
as  you  please  in  your  present  occupation.  Your 
children  may  be  clothed  in  silks,  and  even  educated 
and  refined,  but  *  Vengeance  is  mine,  saith  the  Lord,' 
and  for  the  wretchedness  which  you  create  you  will 
suffer  through  the  ruin  of  some  member  of  your  own 
family." 

It  was  the  first  time  that  any  clergyman  had  ever 
ventured  to  intimate  that  Barney  was  not  immaculate, 

But  the  Devoys  continued  to  flourish.  Albert 
Michael  was  treasurer  of  the  church.  He  inherited 
his  father's  money-getting  propensities,  and  the  wide 
waste  of  mouth  from  ear  to  ear.  His  teeth,  too,  were 
abnormally  pronounced,  and  there  wras  something 
chilling  and  repulsive  when  he  opened  his  weak  and 
watery  eyes,  and  contracted  the  muscles  of  his  mouth, 
exposing  the  teeth  in  the  offensive  exhibition  which 
he  intended  as  a  smile.  Albert  Michael  was  now  a 
private  banker,  who  conducted  his  business  on  the 
principle  that  "  the  poorer  the  man  the  larger  the 
rate  of  interest" 


52  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

Old  Sullivan,  before  he  had  sold  the  apple  orchard, 

once  approached  him  for  a  loan  of  a  hundred  dollars. 

"  What  rate  of  interestdo  you  charge,  Mr.  Devoy?" 

"No  interest,  sir,  no  interest;"  and  he  gave  the 

offensive  exhibition  of  a  smile,  took  Sullivan's  note 

for  one  hundred  dollars,  and  handed  him  eighty-live 
in 
dollars. 

Little  Tony  Devoy  had  become  an  important 
character.  He  had  "  a  pull  "  with  every  wretch  who 
had  been  besotted  in  the  James  Buchanan  Exchange, 
and  local  politicians  were  known  to  pay  him  as  high 
as  one  hundred  dollars  for  his  labors  on  election  day. 
Little  Tony  was  practically  non-partisan.  He  never 
inquired  as  to  the  politics  of  the  scoundrel  who  em 
ployed  him,  but  he  always  waited  until  five  minutes 
before  the  closing  of  the  polls  to  vote,  and  he  sold 
his  vote  to  the  highest  bidder  for  cash. 

The  pride  of  the  Devoy  family  was  Birdelia 
(Yankee  for  Bridget).  She  was  a  plain,  sweet, 
modest  creature,  inheriting  the  graces  of  a  virtuous 
Irish  mother.  She  was  happily  innocent  of  the  ways 
and  means  that  surrounded  her  with  every  conceiva 
ble  luxury.  She  took  unkindly,  at  first,  to  the  change 
in  her  name,  but  when  she  learned  that  it  was  essen 
tial  to  the  dignity  of  the  family,  when  she  learned 
that  Frank  had  become  Francis  Xavier,  and  Mike 
had  become  Albert  Michael,  she  yielded  to  the  inevi 
table. 

The  old  frame  building  which  had  long  done  duty 
as  the  "James  Buchanan  Exchange,"  had  been  sold 
to  an  unpretentious  Irishman  for  a  cattle  shed,  and 
an  elegant  two-story  brick  had  been  erected  in  its 
st^d. 

The  "James  Buchanan  Exchange  "  now  gloried  in 
its  French  plate-glass  windows,  and  the  strains  of 
Birdelia's  piano  were  heard  through  the  open  lattice 
of  the  second-story  window. 


IK1SH   K-U.TU  .D.L.ujAi.NittM.  53 

Meanwhile  old  Barney  and  young  Tony  did  a 
"land-office  business"  down  stairs.  Their  temple 
was  the  shrine  at  which  all  politicians  worshiped. 
Ugly  rumors  had  gone  forth  as  to  drunken  men  hav 
ing  their  pockets  picked,  and  of  gilded  youth  who 
had  been  beaten  on  "skin  games"  of  cards  in  the 
"  private  office ;"  but  all  this  was  dispelled  upon  the 
assurance  that  Barney  and  his  family  "  belonged  to 
the  church,"  that  Francis  Xavier  had  a  vocation,  and 
that  Mrs.  Devoy  and  Birdelia  were  almost  heavenly 
in  their  devotion. 

It  was  known  that  old  Barney  had  a  hickory  club 
with  which  he  used  to  bring  defaulters  to  terms. 
If  a  man  tried  to  leave  without  paying  his  bill,  old 
Barney  would  grasp  the  hickory  club  and  say,  seizing 
the  defaulter  by  the  throat :  "  Faith,  be  me  sowl,  you 
won't."  He  would  threaten  to  ''commit  suicide" 
upon  anyone  who  refused  to  pay  for  the  drinks,  and 
when  seriously  questioned  as  to  whether  he  intended 
to  commit  suicide,  he  assured  the  inquirer,  "  Be  me 
sowl,  I'd  rather  commit  suicide  on  anybody  else  than 
on  meself." 

He  would  climb  upon  the  wagon  of  a  farmer  or  a 
wood-hauler,  and,  under  the  terror  of  his  club,  collect 
a  whisky  bill. 

Yet  he  was  forever  pious.  He  would  denounce 
in  the  bitterest  terms  the  courageous  Irishmen  who 
dared  to  entertain  an  opinion  in  politics,  or  who  felt 
an  intelligent  sympathy  with  American  institutions. 

He  was  an  expert  in  the  card  game  of  ft  forty-fives." 
Sitting  on  a  high  chair  behind  the  bar,  he  would 
play  ' '  forty-fives  "  with  all  comers,  and  so  great  was 
his  passion  for  the  game  that,  when  his  superior  skill 
had  over-awed  all  players  for  drinks  and  for  nickels, 
he  continued  the  game  with  little  boys  for  buttons; 
until  it  was  said  that  half  the  pantaloons  in  the  town 
were  gaping  wide  open,  because  the  boys  had  cut  the 


64  EKIN  MOK:    THE  SiOKY  OF 

buttons  off  their   fathers'   pants   to   play   with   old 
Barney  Devoy. 

Meanwhile  Francis  Xavier  was  "sowing  his  wild 
oats."  He  had  been  found  several  times  insensibly 
drunk  on  the  floor  of  the  Buchanan  Exchange,  and 
one  morning,  to  the  great  scandal  of  his  poor  old 
mother  and  sister,  he  was  found  lying  asleep  on  a 
public  sidewalk,  under  the  morning  sun,  in  the 
embrace  of  a  drunken  showman. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

EARLY  STRUGGLES. 

HE  congressional  election  was  a  protect 
ionist  victory.  An  Irish  youth  named 
Scanlan  acted  as  protector  of  the  few 
timid  Irishmen  who  entertained  opinions 
and  who  dared  to  vote  accordingly. 
Scanlan  was  among  those  who  had  left  Ireland  during 
the  great  famine.  He  was  a  poor  boy,  and  in  his 
distress  "sought  the  nearest  port  in  a  storm."  He 
went  to  England,  and  during  his  three-years  resi 
dence  there,  had  many  a  bloody  encounter  in  defence 
of  his  nationality  and  his  creed.  When  he  came  to 
Connecticut,  he  became  "  the  hired  man "  at  the 
seminary  of  Dr.  Park,  of  Emmanuel  Hall,  in  the 
vicinity  of  New  Limerick.  Under  the  generous 
guidance  of  Dr.  Park,  he  became  more  American 
than  the  Americans.  He  called  a  public  meeting  at 
New  Limerick  on  the  night  before  election,  and,  in 
a  brief  address,  he  guaranteed  protection  to  all  Irish 
men  and  others  who  proposed  to  vote  the  Repub 
lican  ticket.  On  the  morning;  of  election  he  was 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  55 

approached  by  young  Tony  Devoy,  who  told  him 
that  there  "  would  be  hell  all  around  the  sky  "  if  any 
Irishman  attempted  to  vote  the  Republican  ticket. 

He  quietly  replied,  "  We  will  see,"  and,  drawing  a 
Republican  ticket  from  his  vest  pocket,  approached 
the  polls  and  handed  it  to  the  judge  of  election. 

"The  name,  please?" 

"  My  name,"  he  replied,  "  is  Charles  H.  Scanlan. 
For  ten  years  I've  been  told  that  I  was  a  Democrat 
because  I  was  an  Irishman  ;  to-day  I  am  a  Repub 
lican  because  I  am  an  Irishman.  My  soul  is  my  own. 
Let  whomsoever  will  resort  to  the  graveyard  and 
the  gutter.  I  vote  as  I  please,  and  I  please  to  vote 
the  Republican  ticket." 

Old  Barney  Devoy  and  young  Tony,  with  a  severe 
looking  crowd  of  their  followers,  approached  him 
menacingly.  He  quietly  retired  from  the  polling 
place,  calmly  drew  from  his  pocket  a  pair  of  revolv 
ers,  and,  holding  the  weapons  muzzle  downward, 
addressed  the  crowd. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  these  are  not  concealed 
weapons.  I  expose  them  under  the  privilege  that 
the  right  of  the  people  to  bear  arms  shall  not  be  in 
fringed.  I  believe  that  whatever  an  American 
citizen  may  lawfully  do,  he  may  do  with  perfect 
safety.  Now,  if  any  citizen  wishes  to  vote  according 
to  his  judgment  and  his  conscience,  let  him  approach 
the  polls." 

Jim  Sullivan  advanced  with  an  open  Republican 
ballot,  and  voted.  American  gentlemen  opened  wide 
a  passage-way  and  smiled  upon  the  modest  looking 
youth  with  the  armless  sleeve. 

Old  Tom  Sullivan  came  close  behind  his  son,  with 
a  ballot  in  his  hand.  Young  Tony  Devoy  seized 
him  by  the  collar,  and  old  Barney  grasped  him  rudely 
by  the  arm. 

"Whaat!"    said  old  Barney;  "Coin'  back    upon 


56  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

yer  blessed  religion,  votin'  the  abolishin  ticket?" 
And  a  crowd  of  the  "  heelers"  surrounded  him,  as  if 
they  would  tear  the  old  man  to  pieces.  One  of  them 
tore  his  ballot  from  his  hand,  and  another  placed  a 
Democratic  ticket  in  the  empty  palm. 

11  Here's  yer  ticket— yer  Democratic  ticket." 
Scanlan  advanced  to  the  center  of  the  throng  and 
roared  :  "  Stand  back,  gentlemen,  stand  back,  or  Til 
shoot  the  linincr  out  of  you!"  and  the  crowd  un 
handed  old  Sullivan  and  spread  into  a  wide  circle, 
leaving  Scanlan  and  the  voter  in  the  center  ;  and  the 
old  man  advanced  to  the  polling  place  and  deposited 
his  Republican  ballot. 

Captain  Jim  Sullivan  approached  Mr.  Scanlan  and 
thanked  him  for  protecting,  not  his  father,  but  the 
right  of  free  ballot ;  and  there  arose  from  the  by 
standers  a  vigorous  cheer  as  the  Sullivans,  father  and  - 
son,  and  the  protector  of  the  ballot-box  moved  awav 
from  the  polls. 

On  the  morning  after  election  Colonel  Hoggitt,  a 
famous  Connecticut  lawyer,  was  found  upon  the  floor 
of  the  James  Buchanan  Exchange,  dead,  as  all  the 
bystanders  supposed.  There  he  remained  ;  for  the 
body  was  too  heavy  for  removal  by  ordinary  hands. 
He  weighed  three  hundred  pounds.  He  had  been 
in  his  day  a  famous  criminal  lawyer,  very  popular 
among  the  Irish  of  Connecticut,  but  dissenting  from 
his  Republican  brethren  on  the  question  of  saloon 
control,  he  gradually  gravitated  to  the  Democracy. 
In  vindication  of  his  newly-inspired  doctrines  he 
became  an  habitue  of  the  James  Buchanan  Exchange  ; 
played  seven-up  with  old  Barney  during  the  day,  and 
"took  rooms"  in  a  commodious  old  arm-chair  in  the 
Exchange  bar-room  at  night.  On  the  night  of  elec 
tion  there  was  a  terrible  lightning  storm,  unaccom 
panied  by  rain.  Young  Tony  Devoy,  in  closing  the 
bar-room  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  noticed  that 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  57 

the  lightning  flashes  through  the  plate-glass  windows 
of  the  Exchange  illuminated  the  bar-room  so  that 

o 

he  could  clearly  see  a  stale  tobacco-quid  pasted  against 
the  wall  in  the  remotest  corner. 

When  young  Tony  opened  the  bar-room  and  saw 
the  form  of  the  old  Colonel  spread  before  him,  his 
first  impulse  was  to  sweep  it  out,  or  kick  it  out,  as 
he  had  kicked  out  many  prostrate  forms  before  ;  but 
Colonel  Hoggitt's  body  was  too  ponderous  for  broom 
or  boot-toe,  and  so  young  Tony  called  a  policeman. 
The  policeman  called  the  coroner,  and  that  function 
ary,  being  a  physician,  soon  discovered  that  Colonel 
Hoggitt  was  not  dead,  but  merely  stupefied,  and  the 
empty  chloroform  bottle  beside  him  bore  testimony  to 
the  medium  of  the  stupefaction.  The  coroner  noticed 
that  the  label  had  been  removed  by  being  wetted  and 
rubbed,  though  traces  of  the  paper  still  remained. 

Inquiry  proved  that  young  Tony,  on  leaving  the 
bar-room,  had  locked  both  doors,  and  had  raised  the 
blind  upon  the  plate-glass  window,  so  that  the  police 
man  in  passing  mi^ht  easily  look  into  the  Exchange. 
Through  the  patient  efforts  of  several  physicians 
Colonel  Hoggitt  was  at  last  restored  to  conscious 
ness.  He  drew  his  soft  hand,  large  as  a  ham  of 
bacon,  s1owly  over  his  ample  stomach,  and  up  to  the 
region  of  his  heart ;  then,  rising  from  the  chair,  he 
muttered  the  single  word  :  "  Robbed."  He  had 
received  on  election  day  a  thousand  dollars  in  green 
backs  for  a  piece  of  real  estate,  and  to  his  discom 
fiture  he  discovered  that  wallet  and  greenbacks  were 
gone. 

Suspicion  was  at  once  directed  to  Tony  Devoy, 
but  neither  Colonel  Hoggitt  nor  the  police  officers 
would  believe  him  guilty,  though  facts  strongly  argued 
his  crimination  ;  but  his  means,  his  character,  and 
his  appearance  contradicted  the  suspicion  that  he  was 
a  sneak-thief. 


58  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

The  chief  of  police  at  last  put  in ,  an  appearance. 
Colonel  Hoggitt  was  still  resting  in  the  chair.  The 
chief  pulled  up  the  blind  which  had  charitably  con 
cealed  the  colonel  from  the  vulgar  gaze  of  passers-by 
all  morning.  He  noticed  some  figures  on  the  window, 
as  if  a  skillful  hand  had  been  doing  the  work  of  an 
artist  on  the  glass  with  soap.  He  hastily  pulled  down 
the  blind,  and  ordered  the  crowd  out  of  the  bar-room. 
He  then  summoned  all  of  the  members  of  the  Devoy 
family — old  Barney  and  Mrs.  Devoy,  Albert  Michael, 
Birdeiia  and  young  Tony.  He  placed  them  in  a 
group  outside  the  window,  and,  asking  their  attention 
to  the  glass,  hurriedly  raised  the  blind. 

Birdeiia  Devoy  screamed  ;  Mrs.  Devoy  fell  faint 
ing  into  Tony's  arms;  old  Barney  Devoy  turned  pale. 
There,  plain,  unmistakeable  and  indelible  on  the 
plate-glass  window,  was  a  photograph  of  Colonel 
Hoggitt  in  his  chair,  and  in  front  of  him  the  figure 
of  young  Francis  Xavier  Devoy,  with  a  small  bottle 
in  one  hand,  held  up  to  the  Colonel's  nose,  and  the 
other  hand  extracting  the  wallet  from  over  the  Colo 
nel's  heart.  A  flash  of  lightning  had  done  the  pho 
tographing — had  registered  the  crime  of  Francis 
Xavier  Devoy. 

Colonel  Hoggitt  had  been  replaced  in  his  chair 
after  the  coroner  had  decided  not  to  hold  an  inquest 
upon  his  body,  and  now,  during  the  conversation 
between  the  police  officer  and  the  Devoy  family,  the 
ponderous  form  moved  uneasily  in  the  chair. 

"  The  Colonel  needs  a  little  air,"  said  the  chief,  and 
with  a  stroke  of  his  club  he  smashed  the  two-hundred- 
dollar  plate-glass  window. 

The  chief  beckoned  the  family  up  stairs.  Mrs. 
Devoy,  overwhelmed  with  confusion  and  shame,  lay 
down  upon  the  sofa.  Birdeiia  sat  languidly  in  a 
rocking-chair ;  old  Barney  leant  with  a  subdued 
looking  aspect  against  the  piano ;  while  Albert 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  59 

Michael,  assuming-  an  air  of  business,  stood  in  the 
center  of  the  parlor,  facing  the  chief  of  police. 

"  Now,  my  friends,"  said  the  chief,  "  charity  is 
charity,  and  business  is  business.  Your  son  Francis 
has  robbed  Colonel  Hoggitt.  For  the  sake  of  Mrs. 
Devoy,  his  aged  mother,  and  for  the  sake  of  Miss  Bir- 
delia,  his  charming  sister ;  for  the  honor  of  the  family ; 
for  mercy  and  for  charity's  sake,  I  am  willing  that 
the  crime  should  go  unpunished  ;  but  on  one  condi 
tion  only :  you  must  restore  Colonel  Hoggin's 
money.  I'll  give  you  an  hour  to  get  the  thousand 
dollars.  You've  got  the  means.  Pay  the  Colonel 
his  money  without  regard  as  to  who  committed  the 
crime.  You  will  thereby  acquire  a  reputation  for 
justice  and  generosity,  and  no  questions  will  be 
asked.  Fail  in  this,  and  I  will  have  Francis  Xavier 
in  the  meshes  of  the  law  before  sundown.  He  has 
left  the  city,  but  I  am  on  to  him.  He  left  in  the 
caboose  of  a  freight  train  at  four  o'clock  this  morn 
ing,  for  New  York  city,  in  company  of  Herman 
Levi,  the  drunken  showman.  I'm  on  to  both  of 
them." 

Albert  Michael  Devoy  was  a  man  of  business,  and 
after  a  brief  consultation  with  old  Barney,  the  money 
was  produced  and  laid  upon  the  table. 

"Will  you  hand  it  to  the  Colonel?"  inquired 
Albert  Michael. 

"No,  sir,"  responded  the  chief.  "Your  father  is 
proprietor  of  the  Exchange.  The  graceful  and  hon 
orable  thing  will  be  to  have  the  old  man  restore  the 
Colonel's  money  upon  the  plain  principle  that  he 
cheerfully  restores  the  amount  of  the  loss  incurred  at 
the  hands  of  a  robber  upon  the  premises." 

"  But  wouldn't  this  criminate  the  boy?"  inquired 
Albert  Michael. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  the  chief.  "The  Devoy  family 
belong  to  the  church  ;  are  way  up  in  business  and 


60  ERIN  MOE:    THE   STORY  OF 

politics  ;  have  the  biggest  kind  of  a  pull  with   the 
powers  that  be  ;  in  short,  are  above  suspicion." 

"^  Yer  head  is  level,"  said  old  Barney.  "  You're  a 
business  man  and  a  gentleman,"  said  Albert  Michael. 

Miss  Birdelia  bestowed  a  smile  of  gratitude  upon 
the  chief,  as  he  started  to  leave  the  room,  and  Mrs. 
Devoy  rewarded  him  with  a  blessing  and  a  copious 
flow  of  grateful  tears. 

_:  Old  Barney  descended  to  the  bar-room,  where 
Colonel  Hoggitt  was  now  enjoying  his  morning 
dram.  Young  Tony  had  secured  a  special  glass  for 
the  Colonel's  accommodation — a  glass  constructed 
upon  the  pattern  of  a  champagne  bottle  whose  bot 
tom  runs  close  up  to  the  neck.  The  Colonel  was 
addicted  to  filling  any  vessel  placed  before  him,  and 
young  Tony  always  said  that  after  filling  the  glass 
the  Colonel,  by  an  ingenious  use  of  the  fingers,  "put 
an  extension  on  it." 

"  Might  I  pershwade  you,  Colonel,"  said  Mr.  De 
voy,  "  to  take  a  little  smile  wid  me  this  morning?" 

The  Colonel  said  he  might. 

"  Be-gob,"  said  young  Tony  in  an  undertone,  "  the 
Colonel  is  as  aisily  led  as  a  child." 

After  expressions  of  mutual  friendship  and  admi 
ration  on  the  part  of  the  Colonel  and  the  Irish  leader, 
they  drank  heartily,  and  then  Mr.  Devoy  proceeded 
to  business. 

"  Colonel,"  he  said,  "you  lost  a  thrifle  o'  change 
in  my  place  of  business  last  night.  How  much  was 
it?" 

"  A  cold  thousand  dollars." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  When  Hoggitt  says  its  so — its  so.  Do  you 
know  anything  about  the  money  ?" 

"Here  it  is,"  said  Devoy. 

"  That  is  a  thousand  dollars,  sure  enough,"  said 
the  Colonel,  "but  it  is  not  my' money.  Mine  was 


iKISH  REPUBLICANISM.  61 

all  in  large,  new  bills — fifties  and  hundreds — while 
this  money  is  in  small  bills,  greasy  and  finger-worn." 

"  Makes  no  difference,"  said  Mr.  Devoy;  "  with 
me  'tis  a  matter  of  conscience.  You  lost  your  money 
in  my  place,  and  there  it  is.  Nayther  you  nor  I 
know  who  took  it,  but  I  keep  a  dacent  place,  and  no 
man  shall  suffer  sich  a  loss  upon  my  premises." 

The  Colonel  treated  all  hands  again  and  again, 
and  walked  away  happily  from  the  premises. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  BASE  CONSPIRACY. 

HE  chief  of  police  was  the  blacksmith 
Peter  Mclntyre,  known  in  Irish  political 
circles  as  "  Peter  the  Pagan."  The  De 
voy  family  and  the  baser  brood  of  Irish 
men,  who  lived  upon  ward  politics  and 
its  kindred  infamies,  entertained  for  him  a  relentless 
hatred,  and  they  "showed  their  teeth"  upon  many 
an  occasion,  though  "they  feared  to  bite,"  and  many 
of  them  who  would  injure  him  in  secret  if  they  could, 
met  him  from  day  to  day  with  all  the  outward  sem 
blances  of  friendship. 

He  had  an  apparent  disregard  for  things  that  were 
sacred  to  many  of  them.  He  was  something  of  a 
mimic  ;  he  was  bitter  in  his  wit  and  irony,  and  his 
ridicule  of  the  piety  which  robbed  a  drunken  man  on 
Saturday,  while  it  posed  in  front  pews  upon  Sunday, 
was  exasperatingly  offensive  to  the  Devoys ;  but 
there  was  an  undercurrent  of  charity  that  would  shield 
the  family,  while  it  reached  in  justice  down  to  the 
ill-gotten  treasure  of  old  Barney. 


62  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

All  manner  of  rumors  became  current  as  to  the 
robbery  at  the  Buchanan  Exchange. 

The  report,  as  repeated  by  old  Tom  Sullivan,  was 
that  "  Hoggitt  had  committed  shoe-aside,"  while  Miss 
Victoria  O'Toole  pronounced  it  "Susan-side,"  and 
Pete  Mclntyre  quietly  observed  that  (i  the  distin 
guished  lawyer  had  merely  suffered  hemorrhage  of 
the  bowels  in  his  head."  Others  had  heard  that  the 
Colonel  had  robbed  old  Barney;  and  others  still,  put 
ting  together  isolated  facts  and  probabilities,  arrived 
at  the  more  probable  conclusion  that  old  Barney  had 
murdered  the  Colonel. 

But  the  New  York  evening  papers  reduced  the 
story  to  reasonable  certainty,  and  one  of  the  report 
ers  for  a  city  morning  paper  came  upon  the  ground 
to  investigate  and  report  the  particulars  in  full.  He 
first  became  impressed  by  the  fact  that  no  arrest  had 
been  made  ;  that  the  police  were  making  no  inquiry; 
that  the  plate-glass  window  had  been  broken  acci 
dentally  by  the  chief  of  police  (it  was  not  broken  by 
the  robber,  for  hundreds  had  seen  it  whole  and  sound 
late  in  the  forenoon).  He  interviewed  Barney  and 
Tony  at  the  Exchange. 

"  Who  was  the  person  that  closed  the  saloon?" 

"  I  it  was,"  said  Tony. 

"  Who,  if  any  person,  except  Colonel  Hoggitt,  did 
you  leave  in  the  Exchange  when  you  closed  it  ?  " 

"  No  one  but  the  Colonel." 

"  Did  you  lock  both  doors?" 

"  I  did." 

"  There  are  no  windows  susceptible  of  being 
lowered  or  raised  in  the  Exchange?" 

•'  No,  sir." 

"  Where  was  the  key  of  the  saloon  this  morning?" 

"  In  my  pocket,  where  it  usually  is." 

"  Does  any  person  except  yourself  occupy  your 
sleeping  room  ?  " 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  63 

Old  Barney  raised  his  forefinger  to  his  lip — a  signal 
of  silence  for  Tony  ;  and  the  younger  Devoy  respons- 
ively  hesitated. 

"You  have  a  brother  called  Frank?"  said  the 
reporter. 

"Yes,  a  boy  called  Francis  Xavier — the  flower  of 
the  family,  me  religious  boy,"  said  Barney. 

"  He  slept  in  Tony's  room  last  night — he  did  or 
he  did'nt?"  said  the  reporter;  "  fix  it  either  way — 
which  will  you  have,  he  did  or  he  didn't  ?  Where  was 
he  last  night,  and  where  is  he  to-day  ?" 

"  He  retired  early  last  night,  as  usual,"  said  Bar 
ney,  "  in  the  room  wid  Tony  afther  his  evening  de 
votions  ;  and  to-day,  like  every  other  day,  he  is  down 
in  the  woods,  engaged  in  his  meditations." 

The  morning  paper  represented  by  this  inquisitive 
reporter  gave  a  very  full  and  graphic  account  of  the 
robbery,  with  biographical  sketches  of  the  Irish  leader 
and  his  pious  son,  and  in  express  terms  charged 
Francis  Xavier  as  the  robber.  The  report  added 
that  the  story  of  the  plate-glass  window  being  broken 
and  torn  out  by  an  accidental  contact  with  the  police 
officer's  club  was  a  tl  fake,"  pure  and  simple  ;  and 
charged  the  officer  as  an  accessory  after  the  fact, 
who  covered  some  evidence  of  the  crime  by  break 
ing  the  window. 

Francis  Xavier  spent  a  day  and  a  night,  under 
cover,  with  Mr.  Isaac  Marx,  a  wholesaler,  who  sup 
plied  the  goods  for  the  Buchanan  Exchange,  and 
who  resided  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  Chatham 
Square,  New  York  ;  and  he  then  left  for  parts  un 
known.  It  was  noticed  that  soon  afterward  the 
Devoy  family  mailed  an  occasional  letter  to  one 
"  Timothy  Devereux,"  at  Bloody  Gulch,  in  the  Ter 
ritory  of  Arizona;  but  the  pious  face  of  the  ecclesi 
astical  student  had  vanished  from  New  Limerick. 

Peter  Mclntyre,  now  chief  of  police,  was  in  heart 


64  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

and  spirit  a  religious  man.  He  gave  in  quiet  charity 
more  than  his  share  to  the  deserving  poor  ;  he  con 
tributed  to  every  church  in  New  Limerick,  including 
his  own  ;  he  was  a  patron  of  the  parochial  school, 
and  an  intimate  friend  of  Father  Ventura.  It  was 
known  that  he  had  taken  the  best  coat  he  owned 
and  put  it  upon  the  back  of  an  unworthy  tramp. 
"  To  be  poor  and  worthy,"  he  used  to  say,  "  is  bad 
enough  ;  but  when  a  wretch  is  poor  and  unworthy, 
he  is  indeed  an  object  of  charity," 

Between  himself  and  the  Devoys  there  existed  a 
natural  antipathy.  Old  Barney  declared  that  hell 
was  not  hot  enough  to  scathe,  nor  deep  enough  to 
hide  a  ruffian  who  would  go  back  upon  the  faith  by 
votin'  the  Republican  ticket,  as  Peter  did  ;  and  Peter, 
from  his  standpoint  of  reason,  asserted  that  "until 
the  church  could  master  sufficient  courage  to  purge 
itself  of  its  '  Barney  Devoys'  in  conspicuous  places, 
decent  and  patriotic  men  would  desert  it  much  faster 
than  ships  would  carry  over  new  recruits." 

On  the  Sunday  morning  succeeding  the  robbery 
at  the  Exchange,  Mclntyre  went  to  mass.  On  en 
tering  the  vestibule  he  heard  the  melodious  voice  of 
Birdelia  in  the  choir  ;  he  saw  Albert  Michael  occupy 
ing  the  post  of  financial  cerberus  at  the  door  ;  but 
overlooking  these  obstacles  to  devotion,  he  entered 
and  knelt  behind  the  last  pew  in  the  sacred  edifice; 
but  when  old  Barney  entered  and  uncovered  his  vil 
lainous  looking  head,  and  prostrated  himself  in  front 
of  the  altar-rail  before  taking  his  seat  in  the  purple 
cushioned  pew,  the  "  Pagan"  bolted  and  knelt  in  a 
nook  of  the  vestibule  so  as  to  conceal  the  interior  of 
the  church  from  v.ew.  After  a  moment's  reflection 
there,  he  retired  to  the  chapel-yard,  and,  kneeling 
under  a  shady  maple,  offered  up  the  Lord's  prayer 
and  the  Confeteor  Deo  in  a  spirit  of  heart-felt  devo 
tion,  and  retired  over  the  rear  fence  of  the  church  in- 


HUSH   REPUBLICANISM.  65 

closure.  He  never  afterward  went  to  church  in  New 
Limerick,  though  he  regularly  paid  his  church  dues, 
and  was  sometimes  discovered  in  quiet  places  with 
the  beads  in  his  hands,  devoutly  repeating  his  paters 
and  aves.  When  Father  Ventura  urged  him  to  at 
tend  at  mass,  he  would  reply  : 

"No,  father;  so  long  as  the  Devoys  lead  in  pol 
itics  and  religion  at  the  same  time,  I'll  never  enter  a 
church  door.  The  Devoys,  all  over  the  country,  are 
sending  my  people  to  death  and  disgrace  and  per 
dition  ;  while  the  church,  tolerating  such  men  in  its 
front  pews,  lends  them  the  calcimine  of  character  and 
enables  them  to  pose  in  politics  as  representatives  of 
our  race.  That  they  rule  and  rob  is  not  the  greatest 
evil.  The  crowning  disgrace  is  that  they  are  forever 
making  a  trade  of  their  Irish,  to  the  scandal  and  dis 
advantage  of  the  virtuous  millions  of  our  people, 
who  share  the  disgrace,  while  they  do  not  share  the 
plunder.  No,  father;  if  I  were  old  Barney  Devoy, 
and  tried  as  he  tries  to  lie  to  the  living  God,  I  would 
expect  lightning  to  strike  me  dead  in  the  pew. 
Neither  could  I  indulge  in  the  mockery  of  worship 
under  the  same  roof  with  him." 

The  Devoys  resolved  to  crush  the  "  Pagan  ; "  and 
to  aid  them  in  their  scheme  for  that  purpose,  they 
summoned  to  their  councils  Mr.  Isaac  Marx  of  New 
York  City.  He  was  a  friend  of  the  Devoys,  for 
whom  Peter  the  Pagan  entertained  a  feeling  of  hor 
ror  and  loathing. 

"Joost  wait — you  joost  wait;  I  fix  him,"  said 
Isaac. 

And  so,  when  Isaac  was  summoned  to  the  council- 
board  to  devise  measures  for  the  ruin  of  the  "  Pagan," 
a  fiendish  fire  lighted  up  his  eye,  he  rubbed  his  hands 
with  vigor,  laughed  and  laughed  his  cruel  laugh,  and 
said  : 

"Veil,  veil,  veil!  vait — you  joost  vait." 


66  ERIN   MOR:    THE   STORY    OF 

Albert  Michael's  plan  was  to  work  some  scheme 
by  which  the  °  Pagan  "  could  be  convicted  of  forgery. 

Old  Barney  would  make  the  crime  burglary,  be 
cause  Peter  was  a  blacksmith,  accustomed  to  tools 
and  keys  ;  and  tools  and  keys  could  be  disposed  so 
as  to  aid  in  convicting  him  of  such  a  crime. 

Isaac  here  inquired  for  the  exact  truth  as  to  the 
"Pagan's"  character  for  honesty.  Albert  Michael 
replied  that  he  was  an  honest  man,  a  man  of  some 
means,  a  good  debt-payer,  economical  and  sober,  and 
above  suspicion  in  the  eyes  of  the  public. 

"  Then,"  said  Isaac,  "forgery  or  burglary  vill  neffer 
do.  Iss  he  a  married  man  ?" 

"  No,  single,"  said  Barney,  "but  engaged  to  be  mar 
ried  to  Maggie  Sullivan,  the  milliner,  ould  Tom  Sul 
livan's  daughter;  and  Barney  reflectively  spelled  the 
hated  name:  "S-u,  soo,  1-u,  loo,  v-a-n,  van — Sullivan." 

Isaac  suggested  that  he  would  befoul  his  character 
as  to  social  -purity  ;  that  burglary,  forgery,  man 
slaughter,  or  such  crimes  of  dishonesty  or  violence 
were  not  necessarily  fatal  to  the  man's  success  in 
local  politics;  but  some  foul  accusation,  no  matter 
how  baseless,  as  to  his  gallantry,  would  certainty 
damn  him  among  his  own  people. 

"  Correct,"  said  Albert  Michael ;  "that  is  the  way 
to  do  it.  At  a  single  stroke  you  can  kill  the  Pagan's 
character  and  humble  the  pride  of  the  Sullivans. 
You  can  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone.  You  will 
cover  his  mother  and  sisters  with  shame  and  sorrow, 
and  get  even  wid  him  for  the  thousand  dollars."  And 
a  cruel  light  appeared  in  old  Barney's  eyes ;  and 
Albert  Michael  rolled  back  the  scanty  covering  from 
his  ponderous  teeth  as  he  assumed  one  of  his  dia 
bolical  smiles. 

They  opened  another  bottle  of  New  Jersey  cham 
pagne  and  lit  their  Connecticut  Havanas,  and  drank 
confusion  to  Peter  the  Pagan,  to  the  Republican 
party,  and  the  whole  machinery  of  liberty  and  law. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

REVENGE  AND  A  RUINED  MAN. 

BOUT  a  week  after  the  conference  held 
between  the  Devoy  family  and  Isaac 
Marx,  a  certain  man  and  woman  took 
rooms  at  the  Clifton  House,  a  second- 
class  hotel,  where  Peter  the  Pagan 
boarded.  The  couple  registered  under  the  name  of 
"  Herman  Levi  and  wife,  Philadelphia,"  The  man 
was  of  powerful  build,  two  or  three-and-twenty  years 
of  age,  of  very  dark  complexion,  with  a  foreign  ac 
cent  to  his  speech,  and  with  an  eye  whose  artful  and 
labored  smile  only  half  concealed  the  numerous  devils 
peering  out  from  the  " window  of  his  soul,"  The 
woman  was  by  many  years  his  senior ;  nor  did  her 
highly  colored  robes,  nor  her  lavish  application  of 
paints  and  cosmetics,  completely  obliterate  the  traces 
of  age  and  infamy. 

These  people  occupied  apartments  adjacent  to  the 
sleeping  room  of  Peter  the  Pagan,  During  their 
stay,  Mr.  Isaac  Marx  came  on  a  business  mission 
from  New  York,  and  also  occupied  a  room  upon  the 
same  floor  of  the  Clifton  House. 

It  was  midnight.  The  peaceful  people  of  New 
Limerick  were  at  rest.  The  streets  were  deserted, 
save  that  a  solitary  carriage  stood  in  front  of  the 
Clifton  House,  Herman  Levi  and  wife,  having  pre 
viously  paid  their  bill,  descended  the  hotel  stairs  soon 
after  midnight,  hastily  entered  the  carriage,  and  were 
driven  at  a  gallop  out  of  town.  Meanwhile  there 
was  great  excitement  up-stairs  in  the  hotel.  A  dozen 
guests  with  lighted  candles  stood  outside  the  door  of 
Peter  the  Pagan,  while  inside  the  door  lay  Peter's 
body,  apparently  insensible.  The  other  guests  had 
been  aroused  by  the  sound  of  a  blow  delivered  upon 


68  ERI^    MOR:    THE  STORY   OF 

Peter's  head,  by  his  sudden  and  heavy  fall,  and  by 
the  hasty  retreat  of  his  assailant.  Mr.  Marx  was 
the  first  to  reach  the  scene  of  the  assault ;  but  though 
he  said'  he  had  heard  the  retreating  steps,  he  did  not 
see  the  guilty  party.  A  rusty  old  navy  revolver, 
whose  usefulness  as  a  firearm  had  passed,  was  found 
in  the  hallway  ;  the  door  of  Herman  Levi's  apart 
ment  was  wide 'open.  The  Levis  had  hastily  fled, 
so  that  the  spectators  reasonably  and  properly  con 
cluded  that  the  deadly  assault  was  committed  by  a 
revolver,  clubbed  in  the  hand  of  Mr.  Levi.  When 
the  Pagan  recovered  consciousness,  he  was  utterly 
unable  to  say  who  assaulted  him.  He  only  knew 
that  as  he  was  entering  his  door  somebody  in  the 
darkness  felled  him  with  a  heavy  metallic  weapon. 

But  an  incident  so  mysterious  to  every  person  at 
the  hotel,  and  even  to  the  victim  himself,  was  made 
perfectly  plain,  tangible,  logical  and  intelligent  to  all 
patrons  and  visitors  at  the  saloon  of  Barney  Devoy 


next  morning. 


A  scandalous  story  was  invented — Peter  the  Pagan 
was  pilloried  for  his  alleged  gallantry  ;  and  the  mys- 
rious  stranger  Levi  was  glorified  for  defending  his 
wounded  honor. 

The  theory  took  wings,  flew  to  every  Irish  house 
hold  in  New  Limerick,  accumulated  additional  details 
in  its  flight,  so  that  before  night,  at  the  bar  of  Irish 
public,  opinion,  the  blacksmith  and  chief  of  police 
was  a  doomed  and  a  ruined  man,  convicted  without 
a  particle  of  evidence  that  would  justify  a  conscien 
tious  suspicion. 

A  surgeon  had  been  summoned  to  examine  and 
dress  the  "  Pagan's"  wound.  He  discovered  a  deep 
cut  in  the  head,  and  also  believed  that  there  was  a 
slight  abrasion  of  the  skull.  He  dressed  the  wound, 
administered  a  little  opium,  and  the  patient  went  to 
sleep. 


IfUSH   REPUBLICANISM.  69 

Maggie  Sullivan,  and  the  whole  Sullivan  family, 
were  overwhelmed  with  sorrow,  while  the  "Pagan's" 
mother  and  sister  were  stricken  with  grief  and  shame. 
The  "Pagan"  was  confined  to  his  room  for  a  few 
days  only;  because  the  wound,  though  severe,  was 
not  considered  dangerous.  Gradually  it  healed,  the 
hair  again  grew  and  covered  it ;  but  beneath  the  re 
united  skin  and  the  new  growth  of  hair  there  remained 
a  constant  pain,  an  incessant  throbbing  of  the  brain. 
This,  it  was  said,  would  pass  away;  but  it  did  not 
pass  away.  It  increased  into  agony  and  torture. 

The  u  Pagan  "  re-appeared  upon  the  street,  and 
vainly  endeavored  to  attend  to  business.  Except  a 
very  few  of  his  most  int  mate  friends,  nobody  asked 
him  any  questions  as  to  the  scandal  and  misfortune; 
and  to  these  dear  friends  he  invariably  replied  that 
they  knew  just  as  much  about  it  as  he  did.  But  the 
mayor  of  the  town,  one  who  had  risen  as  the  scum 
upon  "  the  seething  pot  of  politics,"  was  very  active 
in  creating  the  worst  possible  opinions,  and  the  little 
political  parasites  looked  into  the  "Pagan's"  eyes 
with  bitter  cruelty,  and  decent  men  and  women  gazed 
upon  him  with  a  look  of  pity  that  was  to  him  far 
more  torturing  than  the  hateful  glances  of  his  ene 
mies,  and  intimate  friends  took  him  kindly  by  the 
hand  and  gave  him  assurances  of  continued  sympathy 
and  confidence.  To  all  of  these  people  he  mani 
fested  a  spirit  of  indifference.  To  their  disappoint 
ment,  he  neither  apo'ogized  nor  exp:ained.  He 
occasionally  sm  led,  and  even  joked,  as  of  old  ;  but, 
while  he  smiled  upon  the  multitude,  his  brain  was  on 
fire,  and  his  heart  was  breaking.  For  himself  he 
did  not  particularly  care  ;  but  he  had  a  sweetheart 
who  was  his  betrothed,  and  a  pious  mother  and  vir 
tuous  unmarried  sisters.  There  are  heroic  hearts 
that  sink  by  slow  decay,  while  they  give  no  outward 
sign  ;  there  are  spirits  that  break,  but  never  bend  ; 


70  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

and  such  were  the  heart  and  the  spirit  of  the  "  Pagan/' 
Gradually  the  hair  above  his  temples  showed  streaks 
of  gray.  He  shunned  his  old  associates,  and  kept 
within  his  room,  or  wandered  in  the  fields,  in  their 
most  secluded  places.  To  all  he  became  sullen  and 
uncommunicative. 

"  And  the  spirit  was  broken  that  never  would  bend." 

Within  three  months  from  the  date  of  his  mis 
fortune  the  "  Pagan  "  was  a  melancholy  maniac. 

Dr.  Barry,  the  surgeon  of  the  Sisters'  Hospital  at 
New  York,  who  was  a  specialist  in  such  cases,  was 
called  to  his  relief.  His  ma'ady  showed  no  particular 
delusion.  He  simply  manifested  an  immoveable 
melancholy,  with  constant  and  pitiable  sobs  and 
sighs. 

The  public  said  that  "his  brain  had  been  turned ;w 
and  this  vulgar  opinion  was  shared  by  the  local  sur 
geon  who  attended  him.  This  worthy  but  ill- 
informed  gentleman  spoke  of  insanity  as  a  disease. 
To  this  suggestion  Dr.  Barry  rephed : 

"  My  dear  sir,  insanity  is  not  a  disease,  but  the 
visible  manifestation,  the  outward  indication  of  a  dis 
ease.  The  disease  itself  is  somewhere  in  the  brain/' 

Dr.  Barry's  inquiry  led  to  the  information  that  the 
wound  had  been  inflicted  by  the  heavy  revolver,  and 
the  "  indentation,"  so  called,  had  been  made  by  that 
triangular  contrivance  beneath  and  behind  the  muzzle 
that  holds  in  place  the  ram-rod  of  the  weapon.  Barry 
caused  the  scalp  over  the  wound  to  be  shaved,  and 
with  a  lance  he  quickly  re-opened  the  site  of  the 
wound.  Probing  for  the  indentation,  he  discovered 
that  a  slight  fracture  had  been  made,  and  that  a  frag-- 

o  o 

rnent  of  the  skull,  scarcely  one-tenth  of  an  inch  in 
diameter,  had  become  imbedded  in  the  brain,  causing 
a  slight  mortification  in  that  organ.  The  fragment 
of  skull  and  the  dead  and  festering  matter  surround 
ing  it  were  skillfully  removed,  and  by  careful  treat- 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  71 

ment  the  healthy  condition  of  the  brain  and  the  reason 
of  the  patient  were  restored.  Slowly  he  returned  to 
the  pursuit  of  his  business  affairs  ;  time  removed  the 
physical  anguish  from  his  head,  but  his  heart  was 
lacerated,  and  to  heal  that  organ,  time  seemed  wholly 
ineffectual.  Gradually  public  opinion  turned  in  his 
favor,  and  the  probable  truth  dawned  upon  the  minds 
of  all  well-disposed  persons,  but  time  brought  him 
no  consolation.  He  closed  his  affairs,  sold  his  shop, 
and  left  for — God  knows  where. 

Many  and  many  a  year  Maggie  Sullivan  mourned 
for  him,  and  the  tree  of  his  memory,  scorched  and 
blasted  to  the  senses  of  his  enemies,  to  her  mental 
vision  was  ever  green. 

She  had  felt  the  beating  of  his  heart,  and  though 
he  never  ventured  to  vindicate  himself  with  her, 
though  he  did  not  even  bid  her  a  parting  good-bye, 
she  still  cherished  his  conduct  and  his  memory  as 
she  knew  them  ;  and  though  many  opportunities  were 
afforded  her  to  become  a  bride,  she  continued  to  live 
a  maid. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

i 
AN  IRISH -AMERICAN  LAWYER. 

si  V 

f'l  M  Sullivan,  having  completed  his  law  studies 
at  Columbia  College,  returned  to  New  Lime 
rick,  and  "  hung  out  his  shingle,"  as  the  say 
ing  goes.  His  business  at  first  consisted 
chiefly  in  drawing  simple  contracts,  making 
small  collections,  and  attending  to  probate  matters. 
None  of  the  old  neighbors  would  trust  him  with  the 
trial  of  law-suits  until  he  had  fairly  demonstrated  his 
capacity  for  that  kind  of  work,  and  when  his  abilities 


72  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

were  generally  recognized  and  rewarded,  and  when 
he  had  passed  the  necessity  of  Irish  patronage,  then 
the  old  neighbors  came  to  "  patronise  "  him. 

One  morning  he  was  honored  with  a  visit  from 
Albert  Michael  Devoy,  who  desired  to  sue  one  Tim 
Finneraa  on  a  promissory  note  which  the  said  Tim 
had  executed  to  the  aforesaid  Albert  Michael.  The 
face  of  the  note  was  for  one  hundred  dollars,  and  the 
accrued  interest  amounted  to  five  dollars.  The  con 
sideration  originally  was  a  bar  bill  at  the  Buchanan 
Exchange,  amounting  to  sixty-five  dollars,  and  under 
pressure  of  Barney's  anathemas,  Tim  Fmneran  had 
sought  relief  at  the  hands  of  the  gombeen  man  (which 
is  the  Irish  term  for  usurer),  and  Albert  Michael  "ac 
commodated"  the  distressed  creditor  of  the  Exchange 
by  taking  Finneran's  note  for  one  hundred  dollars 
and  handing  him  sixty-five  dollars.  To  secure  the 
note,  the  debtor  gave  the  gombeen  man  a  bill  of  sale 
upon  his  live  stock,  consisting  of  two  cows,  six  pigs, 
a  blind  mule,  and  a  lot  of  chickens.  This  contract 
Mr.  Devoy  desired  Captain  Sullivan  to  enforce. 

"Mr.  Devoy,"  said  the  attorney,  "in  view  of  the 
facts  and  circumstances  of  your  case  as  stated  by 
yourself,  I  wish  to  be  excused  from  the  employment 
which  you  are  so  kind  as  to  offer  me." 

"  And  why,  please,  Captain?"  inquired  &K. gombeen 
man  ;  "  isn't  a  bargain  a  bargain  ?  Haven't  I  a  right 
to  my  money  as  conditioned  in  the  note?" 

"Mr.  Devoy,"  said  the  attorney,  "  I  have  no  de 
sire  to  discuss  the  legal  or  moral  question's  involved 
in  your  case.  I  simply  beg  to  be  excused." 

"D'ye  mean  to  say,"  said  Albert  Michael,  "that 
its  chatin'  I  am?  If  that's  what  you  mane,  out 
wid  it." 

"  I  haven't  said  anything  of  the  kind,  but  since 
you  have  driven  me  to  it,  I  will  be  plain  with  you. 
The  law  makes  fine  distinctions  in  criminal  cases, 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  73 

and  there  are  criminal  acts  for  which  the  criminal 
law  provides  no  punishment ;  but  from  a  moral  stand 
point  there  is  little  difference  between  picking  a 
man's  pocket  and  robbing  him  under  your  polite  and 
gentlemanly  system.  It  can  make  little  difference 
to  your  victim  whether  you  rob  him  by  the  vulgar 
methods  of  a  professional  thief,  or  obtain  his  money 
under  your  blood-letting  system  of  usury.  I  give 
you  my  word  of  honor,  sir,  that  I  would  just  as  soon 
share  the  plunder  of  a  thief  as  take  a  retainer  from 
you  in  the  case  you  have  submitted.  Now,  sir,  let 
this  be  the  .end  of  the  controversy;  no  offense  in 
tended;  let  me  bid  you  a  kind  good-morning." 

"Enough  said,  sir;"  said  Albert  Michael,  "you 
will  hear  from  me  again.  I'll  show  you  whether 
you  can  insult  a  gentleman." 

Within  a  hour  after  this  conversation  had  taken 
place,  it  was  rumored  at  the  Buchanan  Exchange 
that  Tim  Finneran,  in  anticipation  of  the  law-suit 
indicated,  had  bought  (Irish  for  bribed)  lawyer  Sul 
livan  by  a  promise  to  present  him  with  the  old  blind 
mule.  This  story  was  the  subject  of  much  hilarity 
among  the  members  of  the  bar,  and  among  the  re 
spectable  citizens  generally. 

Mr.  Cheney  observed  that  "an  effort  on  the  part 
of  Mr.  Devoy's  retainers  to  thus  befoul  a  man  like 
Captain  Sullivan,  reminded  him  of  a  drove  of  village 
curs  turned  loose  upon  an  African  lion." 

But  a  result  of  the  incident  was  that  the  Captain 
thenceforth  refused  the  patronage  of  his  countrymen. 
He  would  espouse  the  cause  of  a  widow  or  an  orphan, 
or  collect  the  just  claims  of  the  worthy  poor  from 
wealthy  corporations,  but  in  such  cases  he  declined 
to  receive  compensation.  He  succeeded  beyond  his 
brightest  anticipations,  and  soon  enjoyed  a  lucrative 
practice  ;  and  while  his  business  came  almost  ex 
clusively  from  Americans,  he  yet  cheerfully  bore 


74  ERIN  MOR:     THE   STORY  OF 

every  just  obligation  demanded  of  him  as  an  Irish 
man.  He  delivered  their  Patrick's-day  speeches, 
and  spent  his  money  at  their  church  fairs,  contributed 
to  their  parish  school,  and  was  foremost  in  the  many 
works  of  charity  and  mercy  proposed  by  Father 
Ventura.  But  when  it  was  proposed  at  an  Irish 
meeting  to  make  Albert  Michael  Devoy  a  member 
of  the  public  school  board,  for  the  avowed  purpose 
of  seeking  a  division  of  the  school  fund,  he  denounced 
the  scheme  in  the  most  vigorous  terms. 

"  I  have  no  patience  with  you,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I 
can  overlook  with  sorrow  your  folly  and  ingratitude 
in  the  unclean  work  of  ward  politics,  but  your  present 
proposition  is  worse  than  folly.  It  is  madness.  The 
people  of  this  Nation  are  merciful  and  patient ;  but 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  provoking  them  too  far. 
The  public  school  is  the  apple  of  the  American  eye, 
and  God  help  you  if  you  should  excite  the  just  wrath 
of  the  American  people  in  regard  to  their  most 
cherished  institution.  You  talk  about  taxation  for 
school  purposes.  Why,  have  ye  no  reason  at  all  ? 
Doesn't  a  certain  wealthy  American  in  New  Limerick 
pay  in  taxes  for  the  education  of  a  hundred  of  your 
children?  If  ye  must  have  separate  schools,  buy 
them.  I  am  heartily  with  you  for  separate  schools 
if  you  want  them,  and  will  go  down  in  my  jeans  to 
assist  you ;  but  you  must  keep  your  hands  off  the 
public  school.  A  curse  upon  the  pious  knaves  and 
idiots  responsible  for  leading  you  in  this  madness!" 

And  so  effective  was  this  appeal  that  Albert 
Michael's  candidacy  "died  in  the  bornin',"  and  the 
more  thoughtful  and  patriotic  Irishmen  in  the  audi 
ence  became  permanently  converted  to  Captain  Sul 
livan's  view  on  this  subject ;  but  it  added  fresh  fuel 
to  the  flames  of  hatred  burning  in  the  bosoms  of  the 
Devoys. 

Lawyer  Sullivan  was  a  welcome  guest  at  the  homes 


UNJVSKSlTY 

. 

V 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  75 

of  the  very  best  of  the  Yankee  citizens.  His  empty 
sleeve,  instead  of  disfiguring  him,  added  a  glory  and 
a  charm  to  the  man — if  we  may  indulge  the  paradox 
that  a  man  may  have  anything  added  by  the  process 
of  subtraction  ;  but  so  it  was,  and  so  it  is.  There 
is  something  almost  God-like  in  every  affliction 
resulting  from  exalted  human  sacrifice.  He  was 
especially  welcome  at  the  home  of  the  Cheney  family, 
and  though  no  word  of  mutual  love  in  express  terms 
had  ever  passed  between  him  and  Laura  Cheney, 
there  was  unmistakeably  a  mutual  understanding,  not 
simply  tolerated,  but  evidently  encouraged  by  her 
parents.  She  sang  for  him  during  his  winter  even 
ing  visits,  and  by  way  of  compliment  to  his  nation 
ality,  she  took  especial  delight  in  rendering  the 
exquisite  melodies  of  Moore,  and  other  beautiful 
Irish  airs,  and  on  his  invitation  she  assisted  the 
choir  of  Father  Ventura's  church  upon  extraordinary 
occasions.  Often  the  subject  of  religious  differences 
naturally  arose,  and  usually  terminated  in  a  com 
promise. 

"  The  difference,  Miss  Cheney,  between  your  faith 
and  mine,  is  that  1  believe  a  little  more  than  you  do ; 
that  is  to  say,  you  believe  something  less  than  I  do; 
but  every  positive  truth  in  the  body  of  your  reli 
gion  is  found  floating  on  the  surface  of  mine  ;"  and 
he  followed  up  this  suggestion  with  explanations, 
dispelling  her  erroneous  impressions,  and  convincing 
her  that,  after  all,  between  sincere  Christians  of  dif 
ferent  churches,  the  difference  is  not  so  wide  as  is 
commonly  supposed. 

The  Sullivan  family,  by  the  sale  of  the  old  orchard, 
were  now  in  very  comfortable  circumstances.  Old 
Tom  having  washed  away  the  smoke  and  dust  of 
toil,  and  donned  a  suit  of  substantial  American  cloth, 
presented  a  very  neat  appearance  ;  and  all  that  he 
lacked  in  refinement,  he  fully  made  up  in  the  gentle- 


76  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

ness  and  simplicity  of  his  manners.  He  was  loyal  to 
the  heart's  core  in  his  love  for  America,  its  people 
and  its  institutions,  and  this  was  all  that  they  de 
manded  in  return  for  their  friendship  and  affection 
for  him. 

Mary  Sullivan  was  a  teacher  at  the  high  school, 
and  Maggie  conducted  a  prosperous  millinery  busi 
ness.  Captain  Sullivan  was  proud  of  his  venerable 
father  and  his  charming  sisters,  and  this  avowed 
pride  Attracted  to  him  additional  respect  from  the 
American  people.  B  ut  much  as  we  love  to  contemplate 
the  lives  and  characters  of  this  estimable  Sullivan 
family,  we  are  compelled  to  turn  to  other  lives  and 
characters. 

Tom  Sullivan  lived  to  a  ripe  old  age;  was  buried 
with  the  rites  and  ceremonies  of  his  ancient  faith  ;  a 
solid  but  simple  tomb  in  the  grave-yard  of  New 
Limerick  marks  his  mortal  final  resting  place  ;  and 
beside  that  tomb  the  sojourner  to  the  cemetery  has 
frequently  seen  a  strong,  noble-looking,  manly  man, 
with  an  empty  sleeve,  kneeling  in  silent  prayer. 

Captain  James  Sullivan  became  popular  with  his 
own  people,  despite  the  most  potent  efforts  that 
malice  and  ignorance  leveled  against  him.  He  mar 
ried  Laura  Cheney,  and  at  her  father's  death  shared 
her  ample  fortune. 

But,  considering  the  broad  extent  and  the  broader 
possibilities  of  the  great  Republic,  he  naturally  sought 
a  wider  and  more  congenial  field  for  his  energies 
than  New  Limerick  and  its  vicinage  afforded.  Be 
found  a  home  in  a  greater  State.  Sons  and  daugh 
ters  were  born  for  him,  inheriting  his  vigorous  frame, 
and  lofty  character,  and  the  sweet  face  and  temper  of 
their  lovely  and  loving  mother.  He  was  deeply  de 
voted  to  his  profession,  and  in  its  line  rose  to  well- 
won  distinction.  For  many  years  he  entertained,  in 
common  with  thousands  of  worthy  citizens,  an  aver- 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  77 

sion  for  what  is  commonly  called  politics.  But  when 
Wealth  brought  him  leisure,  and  afforded  him  time 
for  reflection,  he  turned  his  attention  to  politics,  and 
its  exalted  sense,  and  though  steadily  declining  pub 
lic  office,  he  devoted  the  energies  of  a  well-stored 
mind  to  what  he  termed  "the  creation  and  fostering 
of  a  sound  and  honest  public  opinion."  He  was  an 
ardent  lover  and  persistent  'hater,  and  there  were 
two  leading  articles  in  his  political  creed  :  He  loved 
America  with  the  ardor  of  a  dutiful  son  for  a  gener 
ous  mother  ;  he  hated  England,  not  with  barl  aric 
and  revengeful  hate,  but  with  the  enlightened  hatred 
that  sees  in  her  ascendency  conquest,  rapine  and 
cruelty,  and  in  her  flag  the  symbol  of  desecration, 
selfishness  and  blood.  He  devoted  much  of  his 
leisure  hours  to  a  study  of  her  free-trade  policy,  and 
in  after  years,  when  the  great  question  in  American 
politics  became,  whether  England  or  America  should 
control  the  manufacturing  and  commercial  destinies 
of  America,  it  is  needless  to  state  that  Captain  Sul 
livan  was  an  ardent  champion  of  American  political 
ascendancy. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

RULE  BRITANNIA. 

NGLAND  never  had  such  other  faithful 
subjects  as  the  Irish  famine  exiles. 

While  the  Devoy  family  loyally  upheld 
her  free-trade  banner  in  Connecticut,  an 
other  contingent  of  their  generation  was 
shedding  upon  the  British  name  the  glory  of  military 
triumph  in  the  Crimea. 

On  the  2ist  day  of  September,  1854,3  party  of 


78  ERIN   MOR:     THE   STORY  OF 

British  soldiers,  burying  the  dead  upon  the  battle-field 
of  Alma,  found  among  the  slain  one  soldier  whose 
feeble  moan  gave  testimony  that  he  was  not  quite 
dead.  He  was  covered  with  the  crimson  stains  of 
battle,  and  his  face  was  horribly  blood-bespattered 
and  mutilated.  They  raised  him  tenderly  ;  for  the 
brave  respect  the  brave.  A  fragment  of  a  Russian 
shell  had  torn  out  his  eyes  and  a  portion  of  the  left 
cheek-bone.  He  was  still  breathing,  but  the  burial 
party  debated  among  themselves  as  to  whether  he 
had  sufficient  life  to  be  counted  among  the  living,  or 
whether  it  would  be  good  military  economy  to  carry 
him  from  the  field. 

"  This  man  is  not  a  soldier,"  said  one  of  the  party. 
"See,  he  is  without  a  coat.  He  must  be  one  of  the 
civil  employes  from  the  slaughtering  pens.  Look  at 
the  meat  axe." 

"Yes,  he  is  a  soldier,"  said  another,  ''and  well 
worthy  of  the  name.  I  saw  him  as  he  entered  the 
battle  yesterday.  He  was  with  our  battalion  as  we 
waded  the  Alma  River  and  charged  the  Russians  up 
the  heights." 

"Well/' said  the  first  speaker,  "but  where's  his 
uniform,  and  how  comes  that  meat  axe  there  ?  " 

"The  wounded  man,"  said  the  other,  "is  Private  John 
Dillon  of  the  Eighty-seventh  Foot — the  regimental 
butcher.  As  we  passed  the  slaughtering  pens  on  the 
double-quick  yesterday,  he  was  engaged  killing  sheep. 
I  saw  him  jump  across  the  inclosure  without  his 
coat,  but  he  carried  that  meat  axe  in  his  hand,  and 
an  old  black  pipe,  lighted,  in  his  mouth.  Bloody 
into  my  eyes,  if  there  isn't  that  old  dudeen! " — and 
sure  enough,  the  venerable  short  clay  pipe  lay  beside 
the  body 'of  the  wounded  man. 

"  Pick  him  up,  men,  and  take  him  to  the  field  hos 
pital,"  the  sergeant  ordered,  and  his  gallant  comrades 
bore  him  off  the  field. 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  79 

In  the  Dublin  daily  papers,  containing  a  report  of 
the  battle  of  Alma,  among  the  "  mortally  wounded  " 
appeared  the  name  of  John  Dillon,  private  of  the 
Eighty-seventh  Foot.  The  autumn  and  winter 
passed  away  ;  and  as  no  letter  was  received  from 
Dillon,  from  him  who  had  so  regularly  written,  his 
wife  presumed  him  dead. 

"Surely,"  she  reasoned,  "  if  John  were  living  I 
would  hear  from  him.  Sure,  he  never  failed  to  write 
me  upon  pay  days.  Didn't  he  even  write  letters  on 
pieces  of  brown  paper  picked  up  in  the  trenches, 
when  he  couldn't  get  letter  paper  to  write  upon,  and 
didn't  he  send  me  a  trifle  of  money  monthly  as  regular 
as  the  watch?  God  rest  his  soul." 

There  were  now  two  children  in  the  family — Andy, 
ten  years  old,  and  little  Kathleen,  born  three  months 
after  her  father's  enlistment ;  a  child  whom  the  soldier 
had  never  seen,  and  whom  he  was  destined  never  to 
see.  In  the  cheerless  cabin  of  the  family,  night  and 
morning  during  the  winter,  mother  and  children 
joined  fervently  in  their  prayers  for  the  repose  of  the 
father's  soul,  and  in  the  village  chapel  a  mass  was 
offered  by  Father  Joseph  Lenehan  for  the  same  pious 
purpose.  #  # 

"7T 

In  the  summer  of  1856,  in  the  town  of  Erinbeg 
— the  birthplace  of  the  Dillons  and  Devoys — Mrs. 
Mary  Dillon,  looking  from  her  cabin  door  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  public  square,  saw  a  crowd  of  the 
townsfolk  coming  down  the  street.  There  was 
something  unusual  going  on.  There  were  shouts  of 
joy  and  clapping  of  hands,  and  children  were  romp 
ing  as  if  at  play,  and  the  dogs  even  delightedly  joined 
the  procession  with  their  "glad  to  see  you"  and 
"  how  d'ye  do's."  Older  people  seemed  excited, 
and  at  every  few  steps  some  one  would  rush  up  and 
bring  the  procession  to  a  halt.  Mrs.  Dillon  at  last 


80  EK1N  MOR:     THE   STOKY  OF 

discerned  her  own  two  children  at  the  head  of  the 
procession,  leading  a  tall  stranger,  who  appeared  to 
be  blind  ;  and  Mrs.  Dillon,  after  closely  scrutinizing 
the  stranger,  passionately  embraced  him. 

"  Oh,  John,  acushla  macree  !  tis  you,  my  own,  my 
long  lost  husband,  my  children's  father— ye  are 'not 
dead ! " 

It  was  indeed  John  Dillon— but  how  changed! 
The  raven  locks  were  turned  to  iron  gray ;  the  strong 
hand  was  now  shriveled,  nerveless  and  feeble ;  and 
the  glorious  grey-blue  eyes,  that  melted  in  pity  at  the 
sight  of  suffering,  or  flashed  fire  at  the  mention  of  his 
country's  wrongs,  were  gone — forever  gone. 

An  opulent  government  compensated  him  with  a 
pension  of  eighteen^  pence  a  day,  and  the  tottering 
ruin  of  a  once  glorious  manhood  lived  once  again 
beneath  the  thatched  roof  under  which  himself  "and 
his  children  were  born. 

Poor  John  Dillon  became  an  object    of  interest 
and  of  pity  to  all  the  surrounding  country.     Around 
his  hearth-stone  on   winter  nights,  the  youth  of  the* 
village  would  assemble  and  listen  to  the  story  of  his 
glory  and  his   misfortune.      He  wou1d  occasionally 
whistle  some  inspiring  marching  tune  like  the  "  Brit 
ish  Grenadiers,"  or  sing  a  verse  of  the  "Flag  that 
Braved."      On    summer    nights    he    could    be^  seen 
seated  on  the  rude  bench  beside  his  door,  pensively 
gazing  heavenward,  as  if  the  sightless  sockets  were 
not  dead  and  indifferent  to  the  glorious  full  moon 
that  gazed  in  pity  upon  him  now,  as  it  smiled  into  his 
manly  face  in  the  blessed  years  gone   by,   ere  the 
famine  came,  and  he  had  sought  bread  and  fame  in 
the   ranks   of  the    British  army.       His   little  Andy 
gradually  became  a  man,  and  when  he  had  secured 
such  limited  education  as  the  family's  slender  means 
and  the  local  schools  afforded,  he  added  to  the  family 
resources  by  working  when  he  could  as  a  spalpeen, 
or  common  laborer. 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  81 

Agriculture  was  the  only  industry — there  were 
neither  mills,  nor  mines,  nor  factories.  The  hides 
and  pelts,  the  wool  and  flax  were  exported  regularly 
to  England  ;  the  wheat  and  oats,  the  butter  and  eggs 
were  sold  to  pay  the  landlord,  and  the  men,  women 
and  children  who  toiled  through  the  spring,  summer 
and  autumn,  lived  through  the  winter  upon  corn- 
meal,  potatoes  and  milk,  and  shivered  in  cotton  and 
corduroys.  The  limpid  stream  that  rose  in  the  ad 
jacent  hills,  and  which  in  former  times  had  turned 
the  great  wheels  of  the  woolen  and  of  the  linen  mills, 
now  rushed  on  unimpeded  and  unpolluted  to  the  sea. 
The  wheels  were  silent,  and  the  spindles  still.  Eng 
lish  manufacturers,  under  the  existing  free  -  trade 
system,  flooded  the  country  with  cheap  merchandise, 
and  finally  bought  and  destroyed  the  machinery  of 
the  mills. 

Andy  Dillon  for  many  years  had  been  a  familiar 
figure  in  the  labor  market,  and  the  ten  pence  or  the 
shilling  which  he  received  for  a  hard  day's  labor 
had  kept  the  wolf  from  the  door  of  his  mother  and 
sister.  Now  that  his  father  was  the  rec'pient  of  an 
army  pension,  the  youth  considered  himself  relieved. 
One  morning  he  went  as  usual  to  the  corner  of  the 
public  square,  spade  in  hand,  and  was  accosted  by 
the  principal  employer  of  the  village,  a  gentleman 
named  Mickey  Shanley.  This  village  tyrant  was 
what  was  known  as  a  shoneen  ;  a  little  more  affluent 
than  a  farmer,  a  little  less  respectable  than  a  land 
lord.  He  was  a  middleman,  a  renter  of  farms,  a 
grinder  of  labor,  an  oppressor  of  the  poor. 

"  Dillon,"  he  said,  "  I  have  kep'  you  a  good  long 
time,  gave  you  work  for  charity's  sake.  Yer  father 
is  home  wid  his  pinshun.  I  have  always  paid  you 
eight  pence  and  ten  pence  a  day.  You're  a  good 
boy,  and  I  want  to  patronize  ye ;  but  all  ye'll  get  is 
six  pence  a  day." 


82  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY   OF 

"To  the  devil  wid  yerself  and  yer  sixpence!"  said 
the  youth;  "and  it's  for  charity  you  employ  me? 
While  my  mother  and  sister  depended  on  me  I  was 
at  yer  mercy  ;  but  now  I'm  free.  By  heaven!"  he 
added,  "  I'd  rather  die  a  dog's  death,  and  be  buried 
in  the  old  grave-yard  on  the  other  side  of  the  square, 
than  give  you  a  full  day's  work  for  a  half  day's  pay, 
and  still  be  an  object  of  yer  charity." 

He  broke  his  spade  upon  the  curbstone,  and  in 
another  hour  was  traveling  in  the  footsteps  of  his 
father,  on  the  road  to  Athlone,  the  depot  of  the 
Sixteenth  Regiment,  a  candidate  for  pay  and  glory 
in  the  British  army. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

IN  FENIAN   TIMES. 

EVENTEEN  years  had  come  and  gone 
since  the  famine  exiles  had  left  their  island 
home,  with  tears  in  their  eyes  and  curses 
on  their  lips,  but  conditions  were  little 
changed.  The  upper  and  nether  mill 
stones  of  English  rule  in  Ireland  kept  grinding 
human  hearts,  and  the  grist  of  emigration  resulted. 
The  life-blood  of  the  ancient  nation  was  being 
drained  at  the  rate  of  a  million  human  beings  a 
decade,  and  the  stream  of  life  that  flowed  across  the 
Atlantic  for  seventy  years  was  again  accelerated. 
The  "  Cinderella  of  the  nations,"  bruised  and  bleed 
ing  in  1848,  was  quickened  into  life  by  the  Fenian 
conspiracy,  and  Ireland  once  again,  with  all  her  feeble 
strength,  rose  up  to  grapple  with  the  armed  power 
of  the  British  empire. 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  83 

Thirty  thousand  armed  men,,  in  the  service  of 
England,  marched  and  counter-marched  through  the 
island,  ready  to  quench  in  blood  any  attempted  insur 
rection  on  the  part  of  the  "sister  island."  Order 
once  more  reigned  in  Warsaw,  and  England  gov 
erned  Ireland  with  thirty  thousand  bayonets, 

A  battalion  of  the  Sixteenth  Infantry,  Andy  Dil 
lon's  regiment,  entered  the  town  of  Erinbeg.  Their 
band  played  "The  Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me," and  when 
the  strains  of  instrumental  music  had  ceased,  the  lead 
ing  company  broke  forth  in  song,  and  company  after 
company  joined  in  the  chorus  until  the  wooded  hills 
echoed  and  re-echoed : 

"  My  heart  nigh  broke  when  I  answered  *  No ! ' 
To  the  girl  I  left  behind  me." 

There  were  Englishmen  and  Scotchmen  in  the  com 
mand,  and  with  equal  fervor  with  the  Irishmen,  the 
soldiers  from  the  Thames  and  the  Clyde,  each  doubt 
less  animated  by  loving  memories  of  a  distant  maiden 
in  his  own  land}  entered  fully  into  the  spirit  of  the 
soul-inspiring  song. 

The  command  marched  past  the  ruins  of  an  ancient 
abbey,  under  the  shade  of  the  ancestral  elms  in  the 
court-yard  of  the  village  inn,  to  an  open  square,  in 
whose  center  was  a  large  spring  well,  protected  by  a 
rude  stone  building.  On  one  side  of  the  square, 
inclosed  by  a  moss-covered  stone  wall,  and  shaded 
by  ancient  massive  trees,  stood  the  Episcopal  church, 
with  its  grave-yard.  The  sacred  and  venerable  edi 
fice  was  built  and  occupied,  before  the  days  of  the 
Reformation,  as  a  Catholic  chapel,  but  had  been 
adopted  by  the  English  settlers  under  sanction  of 
English  law,  and  had  sheltered  the  faithful  of  the 
"established  church"  for  more  than  two  hundred 
years.  On  one  side  of  the  graveled  road-way  that 
led  from  the  iron  gate  to  the  main  entrance  lay  the 
last  resting-place  of  the  Episcopalian  dead,  with 


84  ERIN    MOK:     THE   STORY  OF 

ample  space,  under  plain  tomb-stones  or  elegant 
monuments;  while  an  equal  space  upon  the  other 
side  of  the  graveled  road  was  generously  allotted  to 
the  Catholics,  and  consecrated  for  the  burial  of  their 
dead. 

In  this  limited  space  had  been  deposited  the 
remains  of  fifteen  different  generations,  and  such  was 
the  dearth  of  land  that,  when  certain  families  interred 
a  departed  member,  the  coffins  of  those  who  had 
gone  before  were  temporarily  raised  from  their  nar 
row  beds,  so  that  the  grave  might  be  dug  more 
deeply  to  make  room  for  the  new-made  coffin.  At 
one  corner  of  the  church  enclosure  stood  the  little 
"  national  school,"  with  its  three  score  of  boys  and 
girls,  enjoying  the  privilege  of  an  education — a  priv 
ilege  which  had  been  denied  to  their  lathers,  and  the 
acquirement  of  which  was  in  the  days  of  their  grand 
fathers  a  felony  by  English  law. 

Upon  another  side  of  the  square  stood  a  massive 
stone  building.  Its  great  oaken  doors  were  closed, 
many  of  its  windows  were  broken,  swailows  built 
their  nests  beneath  its  crumbling  eaves,  and  ravens, 
bats,  and  wild  pigeons  disported  themselves  in  the 
topmost  story  and  upon  its  roof.  This  massive  ruin 
was  the  same  old  factory  building  that  had  been  used 
as  an  hospital  in  1847.  Before  the  doors  of  this 
building  the  British  Lieutenant-Colonel  gave  the 
command  to  halt,  and  within  its  ample  walls  the  con 
tingent  of  the  invading  army  found  quarters  for  the 
day  and  night. 

When  Private  Andy  Dillon  was  relieved  from  duty, 
in  the  company  of  a  comrade,  he  hurried  to  the  home 
of  his  father.  It  was  evening,  and  in  the  uncertain 
light  he  saw  two  men  sitting  upon  the  stone  bench 
beside  his  father's  door.  One  of  these,  on  close 
observation,  appeared  to  be  what  he  was — an  old  man, 
wrinkled  and  gray  and  blind.  It  was  John  Dillon, 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  85 

the  blind  pensioner.  The  other  was  Sam  Timms,  the 
policeman  who  made  occasional  visits  as  the  lover 
of  Kathleen  Dillon,  the  old  man's  daughter,  and 
sister  of  Andy  Dillon,  private  of  the  Sixteenth  Foot. 
Andy  Dillon  was  member  of  a  so  dierly  family, 
himself  a  soldier  of  fortune.  Though  he  devoutly 
hated  the  government  he  served,  there  was  one  other 
object  that  he  hated  with  more  burning  intensity. 
This  object  sat  before  him  in  the  person  and  uniform 
of  an  Irish  policeman.  Dillon  had  just  enough 
liquor  in  him  to  arouse  his  slumbering  hatred,  and 
on  seeing  the  policeman  sitting  beside  his  father,  the 
young  soldier  hastily  grabbed  the  close-fitting  collar 
of  the  peeler,  lifted  him  bodily  from  the  bench,  and 
kicked  him  violently  in  the  rear.  "  Get  out,"  he  said, 
"  you  miserable  whelp  !  A  peeler  is  no  company  for 
soldiers." 

The  irate  officer,  deeming  discretion  the  better 
part  of  valor,  did  not  undertake  to  defend  himself, 
but  strode  away,  uttering  between  his  teeth:  "Dillon, 
you'll  be  sorry  for  this." 

Timms  made  a  forced  march  to  the  police  barracks 
for  reinforcements,  and  in  fifteen  minutes  a  squad  of 
policemen,  seven  in  number,  under  command  of  a 
sergeant,  were  on  their  march  to  the  cabin  of  the 
blind  pensioner.  They  did  not  reach  the  cabin.  A 
very  trifling  affair  interposed,  and  caused  a  diversion. 
In  front  of  a  saw-pit,  a  solitary  member  of  her  maj 
esty's  Irish  constabulary  was  engaged  in  a  hand-to- 
hand  encounter  with  a  woman,  and  to  this  unpre 
tending  theater  of  war  all  eyes  and  steps  were  sud 
denly -turned.  Bessie  Johnstone,  a  camp-follower  of 
the  Sixteenth  Foot,  was  engaged  in  mortal  combat 
with  a  peeler.  Bessie  was  somewhat  intoxicated, 
and  while  in  that  condition  fell  under  the  observa 
tion  of  the  'officer.  She  was  not  unaccustomed  to 
the  attentions  of  the  police,  and  with  true  military 


86  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY   OF 

instinct  she  prepared  to  offer  resistance.  She  was  in 
a  crouching  position  as  the  peeler  approached  her, 
and  as  he  seized  her  rudely  by  the  shoulder,  she  dis 
engaged  his  grasp  by  a  sudden  jerk,  and  struck  him 
a  blow  with  an  improvised  "slungshot,"  consisting 
of  a  stone  tightly  twisted  into  a  large  red  handker 
chief.  He  fe.l  as  an  ox  might  fall  under  the  well- 
directed  blow  of  a  butcher  in  a  slaughter  house,  and 
the  unfortunate  woman  was  bracing  herself  for  a  re 
newal  of  the  murderous  assault,  when  the  squad  from 
the  barracks  came  to  his  rescue.  Bessie  was  soon 
overpowered  and  tightly  grasped  by  two  policemen. 
By  this  time  some  twenty  soldiers  had  been  attracted 
to  the  spot  from  the  old  factory  building,  and  pro 
ceeded,  according  to  their  general  custom  in  those 
days,  to  rescue  the  woman  from  the  hands  of  the 
police.  The  soldiers  used  as  weapons  their  leathern 
pipe-clayed  belts,  with  the  heavy  brass  buckles  of  the 
period.  The  peelers  defended  themselves  with  their 
long  heavy  batons.  The  fight  was  "  quick,  sharp 
and  decisive."  The  policemen  beat  a  hasty  retreat 
amid  the  jeers  of  the  populace,  which  had  now  as 
sembled  in  force,  leaving  behind  them  the  unfortu 
nate  woman  as  a  trophy  in  the  hands  of  the  red-coats. 
This  military  melee  so  diverted  the  police  that  Andy 
Dillon  was  not  arrested  that  evening.  The  assem 
bled  crowd  cheered  vigorously  for  the  victorious 
soldiers,  and  as  vigorously  jeered  and  hooted  the 
police.  The  policeman  has  ever  been  the  object  of 
hatred  and  loathing  to  the  masses  of  the  people. 
Tis  his  duty  to  perpetrate  upon  them  a  great  many 
injuries  and  injustices.  He  will  insinuate  himself 
into  the  confidence  of  young  men,  and  at  the  first 
opportunity  betray  them ;  he  would  meet  harmless, 
well-meaning  peasants  leaving  town  slightly  in 
toxicated  and  goad  them  into  some  thoughtless 
expression,  and  swear  before  a  magistrate  next 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  87 

morning  that  they  were  drunk  and  disorderly.  It 
was  his  duty  to  impound  the  poor  man's  pig  that 
strayed  upon  the  highway,  and  wring  a  fine  from  the 
impoverished  owner.  It  was  his  privilege  to  indulge 
in  petty  oppressions,  and  his  chances  of  promotion 
were  commensurate  with  the  baseness  of  his  conduct 
and  character  in  pursuance  of  his  duty.  Himself  the 
son  of  some  poor  Irishman,  he  became  the  pampered 
enemy  of  his  country  and  his  countrymen;  and  despite 
his  titles,  his  emoluments  and  his  airs,  he  was  an 
Ishmaelite  in  his  own  land,  with  his  hand  against 
every  man,  and  every  man's  hand  against  him. 

Private  Andy  Dillon  remained  for  the  night  at  the 
cabin  of  his  father,  but  his  deep  sleep  was  broken  at 
the  dawn  of  the  succeeding  morning.  The  house 
was  surrounded  by  a  squad  of  police,  and  before  sun 
rise  young  Dillon  was  in  a  cell  at  the  police  barracks, 
on  a  charge  of  assaulting  Sub-constable  Samuel 
Timms.  By  nine  o'clock  he  had  had  his  trial  before 
a  local  magistrate,  and,  in  default  of  a  fine,  was  sen 
tenced  to  the  county  jail  for  fifteen  days  ;  but  he  did 
not  go  to  jail.  On  his  return  from  the  magistrate  to 
the  police  barracks,  himself  and  the  two  policemen 
who  conducted  him  were  met  by  a  force  of  his  com 
rade  soldiers,  upon  whose  approach  one  peeler  jumped 
across  the  ditch  to  the  right  of  the  road,  and  another 
scaled  the  low  stone  wall  to  the  left,  leaving  Private 
Dillon  in  the  hands  of  his  soldier  friends.  His  rescue 
was  not  prompted  by  any  desire  to  avoid  the  trifling 
fine,  nor  to  escape  a  brief  jail  sentence,  but  to  baffle 
the  malignity  of  Policeman  Timms,  who  had  in  store 
for  Dillon  a  severer  vengeance. 

Andy  Dillon  carried  under  the  scarlet  uniform  of 
England  a  heart  that  was  loyal  to  Ireland  ;  and, 
indeed,  his  politics  might  at  that  time  have  been 
summed  up  in  a  single  phrase:  Hatred  of  English 
government.  As  child  and  boy  he  was  a  person  of 


88  ERIN  MOR:     THE   STORY  OF 

superior  intelligence.  He  had  in  his  boyhood  been  a 
day  scholar  at  the  seminary  in  Erinbeg,  where  Pro 
testant  youths  of  the  aristocratic  class  received  their 
academic  training.  He  was  a  Fenian,  and  had 
"sworn  in"  many  of  the  aristocratic  youth  as  mem 
bers  of  the  Fenian  conspiracy.  Conviction  for  the 
treasonable  act  of  "swearing  them  in  "would  mean 
for  Dillon  a  life-sentence  in  an  English  prison,  and 
it  was  this  that  Policeman  Sam  Timms  had  in  mind, 
when  in  front  of  old  John  Dillon's  cottage,  on  the 
preceding  evening,  he  had  warned  young  Andy— 
"You  will  be  sorry  for  this." 

But  there  were  even  among  the  Irish  police  some 
few,  at  least,  who  were  not  to  be  depended  on  in  the 
service  of  England  against  their  own  country.  It 
was  intended  that  Dillon,  at  the  expiration  of  his  jail 
sentence  for  the  assault,  should  be  arrested  on  a 
charge  of  treason-felony,  but  a  loyal  Irishman  re 
vealed  the  scheme  to  Dillon's  father,  who  in  turn 
communicated  it  to  the  soldiers,  which  led  to  the 
rescue  of  Dillon  from  the  custody  of  the  two  police 
men. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

AN    EPISCOPALIAN    FRIEND. 

N  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  upon 
which  occurred  the  events  related  in  the 
preceding  chapter,  the  soldiers  of  the 
battalion  of  the  Sixteenth  Foot  marched 
out  of  the  town  of  Erinbeg.  The  Scotch 
men  of  the  command  led  off  in  song,  and  the  others 
joined  in  the  chorus.  This  time  it  was  :  "The  Camp 
bells  are  Coming." 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM. 


Later  in  the  afternoon,  on  the  dead  walls  of  the 
town  were  posted  two  proclamations,  as  follows  : 


V.  R. 

A  reward  often  pounds  (^10)  is  hereby  offered 
for  information  that  will  lead  to  the  arrest  of 
Private  Andrew  Dillon,  a  deserter  from  Her1 
Majesty's  Sixteenth  Regiment  of  Infantry.  The 
deserter  is  twenty-one  years  of  age  ;  five  feet 
eleven  inches  in  height;  weight,  twelve  stone  ; 
black  hair,  dark  complexion,  bluish-gray  eyes. 
The  above  reward  will  be  paid  for  the  desired 
information  at  any  constabulary  barracks  in  Ire- 

EDWARD  THORNHILL, 
Sub-Inspector  of  Constabulary. 


A  second  advertisement  offered  a  reward  for  the 
capture  of  Dillon,  charged  with  the  crime  of  treason- 
felony,  for  conspiring  with  other  treasonable  persons 
to  levy  war  upon  the  Queen  of  England,  and  " against 
the  peace  and  dignity  of  Her  Majesty's  government 
in  Ireland."  The  sum  offered  in  this  instance  was 
fifty  pounds  (^50). 

At  nightfall  of  the  same  day,  the  Episcopal  minis 
ter,  Rev.  Hugh  Loyd,  was  sitting  in  his  study  at 
the  parsonage,  a  mile  from  the  town  of  Erinbeg, 
when  his  reading  was  interrupted  by  a  gentle  tap 
upon  the  window  pane.  Rising-  from  his  seat  and 
peering  through  the  window,  he  perceived  a  man  in 
the  uniform  of  an  English  soldier  ;  and  responsive 
to  the  soldier's  sign  he  hastened  to  the  hall  door, 
and,  opening  it,  recognized  his  youthful  friend,  Pri 
vate  Andy  Dillon  of  the  Sixteenth  Regiment. 

Dillon  placed  a  forefinger  to  the  lip  as  a  signal  for 
silence;  the  minister  quietly  beckoned  him  in,  and  as 


90  ERIN  MOR.     THE   STORY  OF 

quietly  led  him  into  the  study,  and  softly  closed  and 
locked  the  door  behind  him. 

"  Young  friend,"  said  Mr.  Loyd,  "what  does  this 
foolish  visit  mean  ?  Don't  you  know  there  is  a  re 
ward  of  sixty  pounds  upon  your  head  ?  Isn't  it  said 
that  the  ministers  of  the  established  religion  are  a 
part  of  the  British  garrison  in  Ireland?  And  why  in 
God's  name  should  you  come  to  me  at  my  house, 
under  all  the  circumstances?" 

"Your  Reverence,"  said  the  runaway,  "what  you 
say  must  be  true,  because  you  say  it.  It  is  sadly 
true  that  your  established  church  has  been  a  power 
ful  engine  for  Ireland's  oppression.  As  I  often  dared 
to  tell  you,  your  institution  has  fattened  upon  the 
substance  of  our  people  for  two  hundred  years  ;  but 
if  you  are  an  Episcopal  minister,  you  are  also  a  man. 
Yes,  sir,  and  more  than  that,  you  are  an  Irishman. 
Our  creeds  do  differ.  There  is  a  wide  breach  be 
tween  us,  but  we  are  children  of  a  common  God, 
sons  of  the  same  sod,  each  hoping  in  his  way  to  see 
salvation.  You  are  a  loyal  subject  of  England,  but 
I  repeat,  you  are  a  Christian  and  an  Irishman,  and 
in  the  name  of  Christ  and  of  Ireland  I  am  here  to 
ask  your  assistance." 

"Surely,  Dillon,"  said  the  preacher,  "you  would 
not  make  me  an  accessory  to  the  crimes  of  treason- 
felony  and  desertion,  by  sheltering,  aiding  or  sympa 
thizing  with  you  under  the  circumstances?  and  if  I 

desired  to  do   so,  what  in  the  world  could   I   do  for 

} » 
you  r 

"  You  could  give  me  a  suit  of  old  clothes,  sir,  in 
exchange  for  these  regimentals,  couldn't  you  ?  "  said 
Dillon. 

"Tut,  tut,  man,"  said  the  minister,  "how  dare 
you  ?  In  case  of  your  capture,  what  would  be  said 
when  a  violent  rebel  was  found  inclosed  in  the  cleri 
cal  garb  of  Rev.  Hugh  Loyd?  Why,  man,  there 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  91 

isn't  a  loyal  man  in  the  British  empire  who  wouldn't 
heap  reproaches  on  my  head.  Now,  my  good  sir, 
don't  impose  too  far  on  good  nature.  It  is  morally 
my  duty  to  turn  you  over  to  the  officers  of  the  law, 
but  I  will  not  do  it.  God  pity  you!  Now  go." 

Saying  this,  Mr.  Loyd  unlocked  the  door ;  Dillon 
moved  as  if  to  go,  and  did  actually  enter  the  hall, 
when  the  minister  gently  touched  his  arm,  and  placed 
ten  silver  shillings  in  his  hand.  Beckoning-  him 

o  £} 

back  into  the  study,  he  added  :  "  Dillon,  I  can't  give 
you  the  clothing,  for  two  reasons — first,  because  it 
would  be  unlawful ;  and,  secondly,  for  the  more  sub 
stantial  reason  that  I  haven't  a  second  suit  to  my 
name.  Just  as  soon  as  I  get  a  new  suit,  some  poor 
fellow  solicits  the  old  one.  Now,  for  instance,  my  last 
suit  I  gave  to  Billy  Sheridan,  my  servant,  and  by  the 
same  token  (nudging  Dillon's  arm),  Billy  does  not 
wear  my  livery  week-days,  but  reserves  them  for  a 
respectable  appearance  on  Sundays,  and  they  are 
now  hanging  beside  the  horse's  stall  in  the  stable." 

"  Very  well,  your  Reverence,"  said  Andy.  "A  nod 
is  just  as  good  as  a  wink  to  a  blind  horse.  Good 
bye,  Mr.  Loyd  ;  God  bless  you  ;  and  if  we  never  meet 
on  earth  again,  I  hope  we'll  meet  in  heaven." 

Passing  from  the  house,  Dillon  repaired  to  the 
stable,  and  taking  off  his  English  uniform,  lifted  the 
preacher's  cast-off  suit  from  the  peg  and  suddenly 
dressed  himself  in  clerical  attire.  Passing  from  the 
stable,  he  hastily  walked  down  the  carriage  way 
towards  the  main  road.  The  parsonage  was  sepa 
rated  from  the  rest  of  the  world  by  a  stone  wall,  and 
exit  from  the  rear  was  through  a  large  "picket" 
gate.  The  bright  full  moon,  now  Hearing  the  hori 
zon,  shone  almost  horizontally.  Coming  near  the 
gate,  the  moon  arrested  Dillon's  attention,  and  he 
stood  still  for  a  moment  to  gaze  upon  it.  There 
is  something  peculiar  in  the  beautiful  objects  of  the 


92  ERI1S   MOR:     THE   STORY  OF 

visible  universe.  Moons  are  forever  beautiful,  and 
yet  to  all  of  us  it  sometimes  seems  that,  when  we  see 
a  full  moon,  it  looks  larger  this  latest  time  than  it 
ever  seemed  before.  So  it  did  on  this  occasion  seem 
larger  thin  ever  to  the  fugitive.  Its  light  was 
not  the  splendid  blaze  of  the  clear  winter  night,  but 
the  meliow  gold  and  copper  mixture  of  its  waning 
days.  It  was  suggestive,  not  of  illumination,  but  of 
shadows ;  and  so  still  was  the  night,  that  the  figures 
of  the  trees  reflected  upon  the  grassy  lawn  seemed 
engraven  rather  than  transitory.  Standing  in  the 
roadway  and  thus  reflecting,  Dillon's  ear  caught  the 
sound  of  approaching  measured  steps,  and  as  he 
turned  av\ay  to  escape  observation,  he  saw  a  squad 
of  four  policemen  marching  past  upon  the  road. 

"  Good  night,  yer  Reverence,"  said  the  acting  con 
stable. 

Dillon  did  not  deem  it  prudent  to  reply  in  words, 
but  !e:surely  passing  out  of  range  of  the  peeler's 
observation,  waved  his  hand  gracefully  in  recognition 
of  the  acting  constable. 

"  His  Reverence  is  in  rumination  on  next  Sun 
day's  sermon,"  said  the  acting  constable.  "  Move  on, 
men,  move  lively." 

They  did  move,  and  Dillon  made  a  double-quick 
from  the  grounds  of  the  parsonage.  Dcte;mined 
upon  leaving  Ireland,  he  bent  his  steps  toward  the 
residence  of  Father  Joe  Lenehan,  that  he  might 
enjoy  the  consolations  of  religion  before  his  departure. 

Billy  Sheridan,  the  parson's  factotum,  was  one  of 
the  liveliest  boys  in  the  parish.  Little  was  known 
of  his  early  history.  It  was  said  that  he  was  a 
foundling,  neglected  by  his  mother,  and  having  been 
deposited  on  the  door-step  of  a  wealthy  old  neighbor 
in  infancy,  he  was  sent  to  the  foundling  hospital  in 
Dublin.  In  after  years,  when  the  reasons  for  his 
abandonment  were  presumptively  forgotten,  his 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  93 

mother,  with  the  maternal  yearning  for  her  offspring, 
started  on  foot  for  Dublin,  and  seeing  a  number  of 
children,  each  about  Billy's  age,  then  five  years  old, 
playing  in  the  yard  of  the  foundling  hospital,  she 
selected  the  one  she  deemed  most  probably  her  Billy, 
and  bore  him  in  triumph  from  the  benevolent  insti 
tution. 

"Alanna  macree"  said  she;  "is  this  my  Billy?" 
She  presumed  that  it  was,  and  so  returned  with  her 
treasure  to  the  birth-place  of  the  original. 

Billy  was  favored  with  the  attentions  of  the  bene 
volent  Parson  Loyd.  He  in  time  was  duly  baptized, 
attended  the  parson's  Sunday  school  and  became  a 
member  of  the  church,  and  ultimately  the  trusted 
servant  of  his  Reverence. 

Some  two  hours  after  the  time  that  Dillon  had 
exchanged  suits  in  the  stable,  Billy  Sheridan  cau 
tiously  moved  out  of  his  room  at  the  parsonage,  and 
very  quietly  made  his  way  to  the  stable.  Parson 
Loyd  was  by  this  time  sound  asleep,  and  Billy  was 
intent  upon  having  a  pleasant  time  at  the  dance  at 
Paddy  Ryan's,  at  a  distance  from  the  parsonage  of 
four  long  Irish  miles.  By  this  time  the  moon  had 
gone  down  behind  the  hill  of  Knock-a-doo,  and 
stygian  darkness  filled  the  stable.  Billy  reached  for 
the  familiar  peg,  and  hastily  exchanged  his  clothes. 
The  trousers  went  on  all  right,  but  he  cou'dn't  find 
the  waist-coat,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  skirt  of 
the  coat  had  shrunken,  and  the  buttons  did  not  feel 
as  smooth  and  level  as  they  might ;  but  he  was'in  a 
hurry,  and  hastily  putting  on  the  coat,  he  hurried  out 
into  the  night,  and  across  the  fields  for  Paddy  Ryan's. 

Near  the  end  of  his  journey  he  had  to  cross  the 
public  road  that  led  from  Clashaganny  to  Carrick,  and 
on  entering  the  road  soon  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  a  squad  of  six  policemen.  It  was  the  night 
patrol  from  Carrick,  returning  from  their  rendezvous 


94  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

with  the  night  patrol  from  Erinbeg.  Between  this 
crowd  of  peelers  and  the  parson's  man  there  was  no 
personal  acquaintance.  The  sergeant  commanded 
him  to  halt,  at  the  same  time  flashing  a  dark  lantern, 
revealing  to  the  police  and  to  Billy  himself  the  uni 
form  of  an  English  soldier.  Billy,  unconscious  of  any 
crime,  halted  as  commanded. 

"Ah  ha!"  said  the  sergeant,  "we've  got  you. 
Hold  up  your  hands." 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Queen,"  said  the  sergeant, 
"  I  arrest  you,  Andrew  Dillon,  for  the  crime  of 
treason-felony,  and  for  desertion  from  her  Majesty's 
Sixteenth  Regiment." 

"What  the  divil  d'ye  mane,"  said  Billy. 

"We  mean,"  said  the  sergeant,  "to  take  you  with 
us  to  Carrick,  and  I  warn  you  to  say  nothing  to  crim 
inate  yourself;  thiggin  thu — a  close  mouth  catches 
no  flies." 

Billy  in  vain  protested  his  innocence ;  proclaimed 
his  untarnished  loyalty  to  church  and  state ;  begged 
to  be  taken  back  to  the  parsonage  for  identification  ; 
but  all  to  no  purpose.  He  was  securely  handcuffed, 
and,  surrounded  by  six  vigilant  officers,  marched 
across  the  Shannon  to  Carrick,  and  long  before  day 
light  occupied  a  stone  cell  in  the  county  jail. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

ESCAPE   OF   ANDY  DILLON. 

"  HORSE  Policeman'"  arrived  at  Erin- 
beg  from  Carrick,  early  in  the  forenoon 
succeeding  the  night  of  Billy  Sheridan's 
arrest,  announcing  the  capture  of  Andy 
Dillon,  and  volunteering  the  information 
that  Andy  would  arrive  under  guard  during  the  day. 
Great  was  the  consternation  of  the  populace.  There 
was  dismay  in  Nationalist  circles.  All  manner  of 
rumors  were  afloat  to  the  effect  that  the  arrest  of 
Andy  was  but  a  beginning,  and  that  other  arrests 
were  to  follow.  Old  John  Dillon,  Andy's  father, 
was  grief-stricken,  nor  would  he  be  comforted.  He 
well  knew  the  penalty  that  "treason"  brought  to  the 
Irish  soldier  in  the  service  of  England,  and  he  felt 
that  the  conviction  of  Andy  meant  the  separation  for 
life  of  himself  and  his  beloved  boy. 

A  crowd  of  people  from  all  parts  of  the  village 
started  out  on  the  Carrick  road  to  meet  the  prisoner, 
Andy  Dillon,  and  to  give  him  the  poor  consolation 
that  in  his  misfortune  he  was  neither  friendless  nor 
forgotten.  As  the  crowd  proceeded  it  gathered  ac 
cessions,  so  that  when  it  was  two  miles  from  town 
in  the  direction  of  Carrick,  more  than  a  thousand 
people  were  in  the  procession.  Very  soon  the  pris 
oner  and  his  escort  put  in  an  appearance.  First 
came  a  jaunting  car  with  the  driver  on  the  front  seat, 
and  the  prisoner  and  three  policemen  occupying  the 
sides  ;  and  around  the  car,  alongside  and  behind,  a 
troop  of  cavalry  in  flaming  uniform.  At  first  sight 
of  the  military  and  their  prisoner,  a  cheer  went  up 
from  the  multitude — a  cheer  for  the  captive,  a  shout 
of  scorn  and  defiance  at  the  captors.  Responsive  to 
this  shout,  a  detachment  of  cavalry  were  ordered  on 


96  ERIN  MOR:     THE   STORY  OF 

a  gallop  to  meet  the  approaching  crowd,  but  when 
it  became  evident  to  the  officer  in  charge  of  this  de 
tachment  that  the  people  were  unarmed,  the  drawn 
sabers  were  returned  to  their  scabbards,  and  the  road 
was  cleared  by  the  retreat  of  the  people  through  an 
open  gate  to  an  adjacent  field. 

The  car  and  its  guardians  soon  passed  in  front  of 
the  great  audience,  and  there,  in  British  regimentals, 
surrounded  by  the  "  pomp  and  circumstance  of  war," 
sat  the  prisoner,  Billy  Sheridan — not  Private  Andy 
Dillon.  When  this  became  apparent,  and  when 
upon  a  closer  scrutiny  it  appeared  that  Dillon  was 
not  there,  the  mistake  was  evident,  and  the  cheers 
and  jeers  were  loftily  renewed — jeers  for  the  peelers, 
cheers  for  Billy  Sheridan. 

«  Yerrah,  Billy  ;  well  ye  may  wear  your  regiment 
als;"  arid,  "  Billy,  when  did  you  jine  the  army?" 
and,  "  Bravo,  Billy!"  and  "  Catch  Andy  if  you  can!" 
and  similar  expressions  were  flung  at  the  peelers 
as  they  passed  in  review  before  the  delighted  audi 
ence.  Soon  the  military  and  their  prisoner  halted 
in  front  of  the  police  barracks  at  Erinbeg,  and  soon 
the  captors  were  undeceived.  The  deep  disgust  and 
disappointment  of  Sam  Timms  and  his  brethren  at 
Erinbeg  can  better  be  imagined  than  described. 
Billy  Sheridan  was  released  without  form  or  cere 
mony,  and  soon  found  himself  on  the  shoulders  of 
four  stalwart  men,  surrounded  by  a  cheering  multi 
tude.  It  was  then  declared,  and  tradition  perpetuates 
the  fact,  that  "  there  was  nothing  too  good  for  Billy;" 
that  if  he  drank  a  whole  barrel  of  porter  he  must 
have  his  fill,  and  "  the  divil  a  penny  would  he  be 
allowed  to  pay." 

As  measure  after  measure  of  Dublin  stout  entered 
the  parched  lips  of  Billy,  and  as  he  mildly  protested 
in  vain  that  he  was  "  full  to  the  guzzle  "and  "couldn't 
howld  another  drop,"  he  at  last  resigned  himself  to 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  97 

his  fate,  and  innocently  confessed  that  he  "was  as 
aisily  led  as  a  child."  But  his  sense  of  duty  to  Parson 
Loyd  remained,  and  toward  sun-down  he  was  loaded 
into  a  cart  and  hauled  in  triumph  to  the  parsonage, 
amid  the  cheers  of  the  multitude. 

Rev.  Hugh  Loyd  saw  at  a  glance  the  comedy  of 
errors  that  followed  his  suggestion  to  Dillon  as  to 
the  suit  of  old  clothes  that  was  hung  up  in  the  stable  ; 
but  the  parson  was  a  man  of  undoubted  loyalty,  and 
of  course  no  suspicion  was  attached  to  him  in  con 
nection  with  the  affair.  He  assisted  in  leading  Billy 
to  an  improvised  couch  of  straw  in  the  stable,  where 
he  leisurely  slept  away  the  effects  of  the  celebration. 


When  Dillon  turned  his  back  upon  the  policemen, 
and  left  the  grounds  of  the  parsonage,  he  carefully 
avoided  the  public  roads,  and  by  a  semi-circular 
march  walked  out  to  the  west  end  of  town,  and 
through  the  open  fields,  in  the  direction  of  Carragh- 
more,  the  residence  of  Father  Joe  Lenehan.  The 
declining  moon  gave  just  sufficient  light  to  guide  his 
steps,  and  at  the  same  time  avoid  unfriendly  observa 
tion.  From  a  hill-top  he  gazed  for  the  last  time 
upon  the  roof  of  his  father's  cabin  —  the  roof  under 
which  he  was  born.  He  could  see  the  spire  of  the 
church  in  the  venerable  grave-yard,  where  reposed 
the  ashes  of  ten  generations  of  his  people.  He 
passed  the  trysting  spot,  under  the  tall  hawthorns, 
where  mutual  vows  of  love  had  passed  between  him 
self  and  Nancy  McHugh,  and  he  passed  the  cabin 
of  Nancy's  parents,  though  he  dared  not  approach 
close  enough  to  see  Nancy  through  the  window  paner 
as  he  had  often  done  before  ;  but  he  saw  the  light 
of  the  candle  'burning  near  the  window,  and  his  heart 
beat  audibly,  so  that  he  believed  he  could  hear  its 
throb  ;  and  he  brushed  away  a  tear,  with  a  prayer  in 


98  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

his  heart  for  his  country  and  for  those  he  loved,  and 
a  curse  upon  the  heads  of  their  oppressors.  And 
he  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  crest  of  a  little  hill,  and 
lovingly  gazed  upon  the  village  steeple  and  the  dim 
lights  in  the  windows  of  the  last  house  in  the  village 
that  he  passed  ;  and  he  bade  good-bye  to  his  home, 
his  kindred,  his  comrades,  and  his  love — forever. 

Within  an  hour  old  Mary  Fahey,  the  house-keeper 
of  Father  Lenehan,  had  opened  the  kitchen  door  of 
the  priest's  residence,  and  in  a  few  seconds  he  stood 
in  the  presence  of  Father  Joe. 

The  story  of  his  trouble  and  his  flight  had  pre 
ceded  him;  his  "crime"  of  loving  Ireland  had 
reached  the  ears  of  the  soggarth.  The  priest  gave 
a  word  of  caution  to  old  Mary,  ordered  up  a  supply 
of  bread  and  meat  and  milk,  which  he  placed  upon 
a  table  in  his  own  bed-room,  then  hastily  closed  the 
blinds  and  curtains  of  that  room,  put  out  the  lights 
that  were  burning  in  others,  and  hastily  led  Dillon  to 
a  feast  in  the  bed-room. 

"  Father,"  said  the  fugitive,  "  I  have  come  for " 

"  Hush,  ma  bouchal"  said  the  priest.  "You  have 
come,  first  of  all,  for  something  to  appease  your 
hunger.  You  must  be  famished,  a  vie  machree. 
There  now,  agra,  say  nothing,  but  eat  something." 

Dillon  obeyed  orders  ;  but  he  had  a  higher  pur 
pose  than  the  appeasement  of  his  hunger,  and  after 
filling  his  mouth,  he  persisted  in  saying : 

"  Father,  I  have  come  for " 

But  the  priest  interrupted  him  with  a  "  Hush,  ma 
bouchal,  na  bocklish  nish  ;  wait  till  you  have  eaten 
and  then  1*11  listen  to  you." 

Nothing  further  was  said  until  the  meal  was  fin 
ished,  and  then  the  runaway  was  permitted  to  finish 
the  sentence. 

"Father,  I  am  leaving  Ireland,  and  I  have  corns 
to  say  my  confession  and  to  ask  you  for  absolution, 
and  your  blessing." 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  99 

The  priest,  sitting  down,  put  on  his  stole  ;  the 
penitent  knelt  beside  him  ;  the  priest  whispered  a 
prayer  in  Latin ;  suggested  to  the  penitent  the  Confe- 
teor  Deo,  "  I  confess  to  Almighty  God,  etc.;"  and 
then  proceeded  to  hear  a  recital  of  the  young  man's 
sins.  Slowly  the  young  man  related  his  transgres 
sions  ;  told  of  his  spree  at  the  sheebeen  house, 
where  he  drank  more  liquor  than  he  could  bear;  how 
he  kicked  policeman  Sam  Timms;  how  he  once, 
under  provocation,  called  the  name  of  God  in  vain 
in  the  barrack  yard  at  Athlone;  and  how,  over 
stepping  the  law  of  Heaven,  he  had  sometimes 
kissed  Nancy  Mctiugh;  and  last,  how — contrary,  as 
he  understood  it,  to  the  rule  of  the  church — he  had 
sworn  a  solemn  oath  of  eternal  hostility  to  England, 

"And  now,  my  son,"  said  the  soggarth,  "is  that 
all  ?  " 

"That  is  all,"  said  the  penitent 

"And  now,"  said  the  priest,  "do  you  feel  a  hearty 
sorrow  for  having  so  offended  God  ?  Do  you  feel 
a  true  contrition  for  all  your  sins,  and  are  you  dis 
posed  not  to  repeat  your  sins,  but  to  abandon  them, 
and  from  out  your  heart  desire  to  sin  no  more?" 

"  Father,"  said  the  penitent,  "  I  am  heartily  sorry 
for  all  my  sins,  and  before  God  and  you  I  can  for 
give  my  enemies,  all  but  one — I  can  make  no  peace 
with  England.  In  that  case  I  can  neither  retract 
nor  repent." 

f<  Then,  my  son,"  said  the  priest,  "  I  cannot  give 
you  absolution." 

'*  Father,"  said  the  youth,  "can  you  say  a  mass 
for  my  soul,  and  give  me  a  parting  blessing?" 

"With  a  cree galore"  said  the  soggarth* 

"  Then  a  blessing  and  a  mass  let  it  be,"  said  the 
youth;  "  I'll  never  enter  the  gate  of  heaven  with  an 
English  pass." 

Father  Lenehan  placed  his  hand  upon  the  dark 


100  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

head  of  the  young  man,  and  offered  a  fervid  blessing 
for  his  temporal  and  eternal  welfare.  The  door  was 
cautiously  opened,  and  the  fugitive  went  out  into 
the  night,  crossed  the  stone  fence  in  front  of  the 
priest's  residence,  and  turned  his  face  to  the  west. 
It  was  midnight.  He  traveled  all  the  remainder  of 
the  night,  and  at  daylight  was  safely  housed  in  the 
home  of  his  friend  Ned  Duffy,  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Castlerea.  Thoroughly  rested  at  nightfall,  he  started 
again,  guided  by  a  trusty  companion,  and  before 
daylight  on  the  second  morning  was  again  under 
shelter  with  a  Fenian  brother  in  the  town  of  Tuam. 

Resolved  upon  receiving  absolution,  he  went  to 
the  home  of  the  venerable  Archbishop  Me  Hale  at  the 
cathedral.  Here  he  met  an  aged  priest  who,  in  the 
latter  half  of  the  eighteenth  century,  had  to  seek  his 
education  and  ordination  in  France  ;  the  office  of  a 
priest  being  then  in  Ireland  a  felony,  according  to 
English  law. 

To  this  venerable  father  he  told  the  story  of  eter 
nal  hostility  to  England,  and  the  old  father,  with  a 
smile,  cheerfully  gave  him  absolution. 

"  Ma  bouchal"  the  soggarth  added  when  the  youth 
had  made  his  act  of  contrition  and  risen  from  his 
knees,  "ma  bouchal,  I,  myself,  have  made  no  peace 
with  England.  In  my  young  manhood  I' taught  the 
boys  how  Jude  and  Macabee  invoked  the  wrath  of 
God  upon  the  slave  who  could  forget  that  God  made 
us  free.  When  rebels  were  forced  into  the  hills  I 
shared  their  hardships  and  their  hunger.  I  was  among 
the  poor  when  every  man,  woman  and  child  in  the 
western  half  of  my  parish  was  apparently  dying  of 
famine  and  fever,  and  when  I  administered  the 
ttessed  sacrament  to  every  living  soul,  deeming 
each  of  them  in  articulo  mortis,  practically.  Go 
your  way  ;  God  bless  you  ;  and  wherever  you  go  you 
must  "  make  no  peace  with  England." 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

ARRANGING  FOR  DEPARTURE. 

HE  venerable  priest  at  Tuam  furnished 
Dillon  with  a  suit  of  corduroy  and  mole 
skin,  and  in  the  confessional  he  donned 
his  new  suit,  and  deposited  the  clerical 
garb  of  Rev.  Hugh  Loyd.  Already  the 
Hue  and  Cry,  the  organ  of  the  police  power,  had 
described  him  as  traveling  in  the  guise  of  an  Epis 
copal  clergyman,  so  that  his  newest  suit  of  sober  gray 
and  mud  color  was  calculated  to  throw  his  pursuers 
€<  off  the  scent,"  if  by  any  chance  they  were  enabled 
to  see  him.  The  extreme  western  part  of  Ireland 
presented  to  him  scenes  that  were  entirely  different 
from  those  in  the  Valley  of  the  Shannon.  The  rich 
cattle  pastures  and  sheep  walks  of  the  interior  were 
behind  him  ;  he  was  now  among  the  western  peas 
ants,  whose  five-acre  holdings  presented  none  of  the 
natural  richness,  the  prosperity  or  thrift  occasionally 
visible  in  the  interior  of  the  island. 

The  land  was  primitively  sandy  and  bare,  and  the 
system  of  landlordism  was  a  most  effectual  handicap 
to  progress.  If  a  peasant  planted  a  tree,  the  tree 
was  not  his  ;  if  he  built  a  stone  fence,  he  could 
lay  no  claim  to  that  improvement ;  if  his  family 
had  carted  the  sea- weed  from  out  the  very  ocean  and 
hauled  it  in  "creels"  upon  their  backs,  to  fertilize  the 
stony  places,  they  merely  fattened  the  land  for  the 
benefit  of  the  landlord  ;  and  if,  in  the  face  of  every 
difficulty,  the  tenant  at  last  succeeded  in  beautifying 
and  permanently  improving  the  little  holding,  his 
industry  and  toil  were  turned  to  a  disadvantage  by 
an  increase  in  the  rent. 

Was  ever  a  system  of  political  economy  devised 
by  man  so  well  calculated  to  discourage  and  impov- 


102  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

erish  a  people?  Rack-rents,  to  the  utmost  capacity 
of  the  land  and  to  the  limit  of  human  endurance, 
were  exacted  for  these  wretched  little  farms.  If  the 
season  was  favorable,  the  tenant  managed  to  raise 
the  rent  from  an  acre  of  grain,  and  by  fattening  a  pig 
or  two  ;  and  the  net  profit  consisted  of  half  an  acre 
of  potatoes  and  the  milk  of  a  couple  of  cows.  The 
proceeds  of  the  butter  went  to  the  landlord.  The 
pig  was  the  honored  guest,  very  often  sharing  the 
same  sleeping  apartment  with  the  family;  and  yet, 
under  these  deplorable  conditions,  there  were,  in 
prosperous  years,  peace  and  joy  and  happiness,  be 
gotten  of  labor  and  love  and  virtue.  The  father  of 
the  family,  sometimes  accompanied  by  the  eldest  son, 
would  make  his  way  on  foot  to  Dublin,  would  cross 
the  sea  to  England,  to  save  the  English  hay  crop 
and  reap  the  English  harvest,  and  return  in  the  fall 
with  a  few  sovereigns  in  his  pocket.  These  harvest 
men  generally  entered  the  British  island  in  crowds 
of  fifty  or  a  hundred.  This  massing  was  necessary 
to  their  very  lives,  because  it  frequently  occurred 
that  a  hundred  English  workmen,  brawny  and  well 
fed,  would  sally  forth  from  a  factory  or  a  brick  yard, 
and  assail  an  inferior  force  of  these  poor,  underfed 
harvest  men.  On  such  occasions,  and  only  on  such 
occasions,  was  the  Irish  blackthorn  put  to  a  merito 
rious  use.  Nowhere  on  earth — neither  at  Fredericks- 
burg  nor  at  Waterloo — have  Irishmen  displayed 
greater  valor  than  in  resistance  to  the  cruel  onslaughts 
thus  made  upon  them.  England,  gentle  reader,  is 
said  to  be  a  free-trade  nation,  and  this  rude  warfare 
of  brick  and  stone  and  bludgeon,  aimed  at  Irish 
heads,  was  but  the  assertion  of  the  higher  law  of  a 
peop1e  protecting  their  well-paid  labor  market  against 
the  cheaper  labor  of  a  sister  island.  It  was  the 
untutored  assertion  of  the  doctrine  of  protective 
tariff. 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  103 

As  Dillon  in  the  early  morning  stepped  out  of  the 
old  ruin,  and  looked  upon  the  scenes,  and  listened  to 
the  voices  of  nature,  there  was  neither  human  being 
nor  human  habitation  in  sight ;  for  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach,  a  clearing  had  been  made;  that  is  to  say, 
the  land  had  been  cleared  of  its  Irish  population 
by  process  of  English  law,  and  sheep  and  cattle 
were  browsing  lazily  above  the  hearthstones  of  the 
exiled  race. 

"Great  God!"  he  exclaimed  in  the  very  agony  of 
soul,  "  is  this  the  destiny  of  my  countrymen  ?  The 
crows  have  homes  in  the  trees,  the  blackbirds  and 
thrushes  in  the  hedge-row,  the  fishes  in  the  brook, 
and  yet  upon  the  face  of  Irish  earth  Providence  has 
allotted  no  space  for  man.  If  this  then  be  the  fate 
of  my  people,  Ireland  is  the  last  place  on  earth  for 
an  Irishman.  Surely  the  tallest  mountain,  the  dryest 
plain,  the  deadliest  swamp  in  free  America  is  far 
better  than  a  land  where,  amid  the  loveliest  scenes, 
there  is  human  desolation." 

So  saying,  he  hastily  left  the  spot,  and  bent  his 
steps  to  the  town  of  Galway.  On  his  arrival  in  "  the 
City  of  the  Tribes,"  he  naturally  avoided  the  principal 
streets,  and  undesignedly  found  his  way  to  the  sea 
shore  suburb  of  Claddagh.  This  district  was  dis 
tinctively,  peculiarly  Irish.  Tradition  tells  us  that  in 
the  distant  times — some  hundred  of  years  ago — when 
Ireland  enjoyed  a  prosperous  commerce  with  Spain, 
a  crew,  of  Spanish  sailors  were  shipwrecked  on  the 
Galway  coast  ;  were  accorded  the  hospitalities  of  the 
Claddagh  fishermen  ;  became  enamored  of  the  Irish 
colleens ;  married  Irish  wives;  became  "more  Irish 
than  the  Irish,"  and  a  permanent  part  of  the  Clad 
dagh  population.  Tradition  is  verified  in  the  large 
dark  eyes  and  the  silken  black  hair  of  the  Claddagh 
maidens  of  to-day.  Upon  a  rude  bench  in  front  of  a 
white-washed  cabin  that  fronted  on  the  Bay  of  Gal- 


104  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

way,  sat  an  aged  man,  a  chieftain  among  his  people, 
upon  whom  the  unwritten  law  of  the  tribe  conferred 
the  honors  and  title  of  "  the  King  of  the  Claddagh," 
and  to  this  aged  man  the  deserter  turned  for  a  senecus 
(conference).  The  talk  was  in  the  Celtic  tongue ; 
for  in  those  days  no  aged  resident  of  Claddagh  spoke 
a  word  of  English. 

"  God  save  you,  friend,"  said  the  visitor. 

"  God  save  you  kindly,"  said  the  king. 

"  Could  you  give  a  poor  famished  bouchal  a  mouth 
ful  to  eat  ? "  said  the  stranger. 

"  With  a  heart  and  a  half,"  said  the  venerable  man  ; 
"come  in.  We  can  give  you  a  drop  of  poteen,  a  po 
tato  and  fish  galore,  with  a  measure  of  milk  or  water 
to  wash  it  clown.  Poor 'boy  !  you  look  tired  and  dis 
tressed.  Where  do  you  come  from,  and  what  can 
we  do  for  you  ? " 

Dillon  felt  that  he  had  found  a  friend,  and  without 
hesitation,  speaking  in  undertones,  told  his  story  to 
the  fisherman,  expressed  his  purpose  of  leaving' Ire 
land,  and  added  that  he  was  entirely  without  means. 

"  Trust  in  God  "  said  the  fisherman  ;  "  the  darkest 
hour  of  night  is  the  hour  before  dawn.  You  will  rest 
in  this  cabin  until  morning,  and  meanwhile  I  will  see 
what  can  be  done  for  you.  If  all  else  fails,  we  will 
send  you  out  in  a  fishing  smack,  and  the  boys  will  land 
you  on  the  coast  of  France,  where  there  is  always  a 
caed  mille  failthe  for  a  runaway  Irishman." 

With  assurance  of  his  perfect  safety,  the  king  led 
the  fugitive  to  an  inner  room,  and  the  youth  was 
soon  at  rest  in  the  deep,  dreamless  sleep  of  a  healthy 
innocent  man. 

From  his  sleep  he  did  not  awake  until  nightfall, 
and  on  re-entering  the  main  apartment  of  the  cot 
tage,  he  saw  several  persons,  among  them  a  stalwart 
stranger,  with  skin  as  black  as  coal,  and  a  voice 
which  bespoke  him  a  foreigner. 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  105 

"This  man,"  said  the  king  of  Claddagh,  "  is  An 
thony  Sexton,  an  American  negro,  a  cook  upon  the 
ship  Hibernia,  which  sails  out  of  Galway  for  New 
York  to-morrow  afternoon.  His  face  is  black,  but 
his  heart  is  true.  He  belongs  to  a  race  of  men  who 
have  suffered  long  in  slavery.  He  says  that  a  great 
many  Irishmen  fought  in  the  American  war  which 
resulted  in  the  freedom  of  his  people,  and  in  return 
he  has  sympathy  for  our  suffering  countrymen." 

Dillon  grasped  the  black  man's  hand.  He  had 
read  a  good  deal  of  the  negro.  He  had  read  and  re 
read  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  and  was  thoroughly 
familiar  with  the  attitude  of  Daniel  O'Connell  to 
ward  the  institution  of  slavery  in  America.  He 
proudly  repeated  to  his  new  acquaintance  how  the 
great  O'Connell  had  spurned  the  proffered  gold  of 
the  slave  power,  declaring  that  if  Ireland's  freedom 
depended  upon  money  drawn  from  the  blood  and 
sweat  of  the  African  slave  in  America,  Ireland  would 
prefer  to  clank  her  chains  until  the  crack  of  doom. 

"  A  thousand  times  I  have  wished,"  said  Dillon, 
"that  I  might  be  privileged  to  reach  America  before 
the  close  of  the  war,  so  that  I  might  strike  a  blow 
for  the  freedom  of  the  negro." 

"And  is  that  the  sentiment  in  Ireland?"  inquired 
the  black  man. 

"That,"  replied  Dillon,"  "is  the  sentiment  among 
the  younger  and  more  enlightened  generation  of 
Irishmen  ;  among  all  of  us  who  know  enough  to  enter 
tain  a  sentiment,  there  is  a  deep  desire  for  world-wide 
freedom  and  universal  emancipation." 

''Golly!"  said  the  black  man>  "a  voyage  on  the 
ocean  makes  an  awful  change  in  Irish  sentiment  ; 
for  while  a  great  many  of  your  countrymen  love 
liberty,  and  fight  for  it  in  America,  there  is  a  big 
majority  of 'em  in  the  States  that  hate  the  niggers, 
as  they  call  us,  and  who  work  and  vote  against  our 
every  right  and  privilege." 


106  ERIN   MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

A  blush  of  shame  mantled  the  face  of  the  Fenian 
when  he  learned  that  any  of  his  countrymen  could  be 
basely  recreant  to  freedom,  and  he  vowed  to  Heaven 
then  and  there,  with  uplifted  hand,  that  if  he  reached 
American  soil,  he  would  take  the  side  of  freedom. 

Sexton  rose,  and  proceeded  to  take  his  leave  with 
an  all-round  hand-shake.  "  Meet  me,"  he  said  to 
Dillon,  "at  Salt  Hill  by  sunrise  in  the  mawnin',  and 
I'll  try  and  assist  you  to  America.  The  old  man  or 
one  of  his  boys  will  take  you  to  the  appointed  spot, 
and  I  be  thar  sure." 

It  was  so  agreed,  and  the  party  separated  for  the 
night — Sexton  to  his  ship,  and  Dillon  to  the  cottage 
of  the  king  of  Claddagh. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  EXILES   OF  ERIN. 

FTER  the  departure  of  the  negro,  the 
family  of  the  fisherman,  Dalton  by  name, 
lighted  their  candles,  and  busied  them 
selves — the  father  and  his  wife  mending 
and  adjusting  the  nets.  The  two  sons, 
young  men,  entered  a  little  later.  They  had  just 
returned  from  a  fishing  voyage. 

"  What  luck,  my  boys  ?  "  said  the  father. 
"  Poor  luck,  sir,"  responded  the  oldest  of  the  boys. 
"The  French  vessels  were  in  force  to-day  a  few 
miles  outside  the  bay,  and  it's  a  sorry  chance  we 
stand  fishing  in  competition  with  them  and  their 
splendid  vessels  and  perfect  tackle." 

Dillon  inquired  whether  fishermen    came  all  the 
way  from  France  to  fish  upon  the  Irish  coast. 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  107 

"Oh,  yes,  sir,"  said  one  of  the  Dalton  boys ;  "the 
French,  the  English  and  the  Scotch  find  profitable 
fishing  on  the  western  coast  of  Ireland  ;  and  our 
mackerel  are  sold  in  the  markets  of  Paris,  London 
and  Glasgow.  Want  of  capital  compels  us  to  use 
unsafe  and  inferior  fishing  boats  and  tackle.  We 
have  no  proper  wharves  or  other  landing  places,  and 
compelled  as  we  are  to  fish  inshore,  our  catch  is 
small,  and  small  as  it  is,  there  is  no  market  for  it." 

"  I  would  think,"  said  Dillon,  "that  Galway  City 
alone,  with  its  thousands  of  population,  would  afford 
a  very  good  market." 

"  Bless  your  soul!"  responded  the  fisherman,  "if 
you  leave  out  the  Queen's  College,  the  railway  hotel, 
the  police  and  the  poor-house^  there  is  little  left  in 
the  wray  of  a  market.  As  a  majority  of  the  poor 
have  no  other  employment,  they  do  their  own  fishing." 

"  Have  you  no  mills,  or  mines,  or  factories?"  said 
Dillon. 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort,  sir,  except  a  flouring  mill. 
In  the  matter  of  factories,  Galway  is  like  the  rest  of 
Ireland.  Since  we  lost  our  native  government,  and 
the  power  to  protect  our  industries,  England  has 
done  our  manufacturing." 

"  But,"  said  Dillon,  "  I  see  a  great  many  ships  in 
the  harbor.  You  must  have  considerable  commerce." 

"Oh,  DeaT  said  the  old  man.  "We  have  some 
shipping,  sir.  There  are  ships  from  America,  that 
bring  us  yellow  meal,  and  export  from  us,  in  return, 
the  bone  and  sinew  of  our  people,  the  young  and 
hearty,  leaving  behind  them ^ the  old  and  the  help 
less  ;  and  there  are  ships  from  England,  that  bring 
us  clothing  and  hardware  and  farming  tools,  and  take 
away  in  return  our  beef  and  bacon  and  butter,  the 
finest  that  the  world  yields." 

"  But  you  certainly  receive  some  money  for  your 
farming  produce  ?" 


108  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

'  Yes,  sir ;  but  it  doesn't  get  time  to  warm  in  our 
pockets  till  off  it  goes  again,  into  the  pockets  of  the 
landlords,  who  spend  it  in  England,  or  squander  it 
in  gambling  houses,  and  worse  houses  than  that,  on 
the  Continent  of  Europe." 

From  this  the  topic  of  conversation  turned  upon 
the  work  at  which  the  young  girls  were  engaged. 
They  were  dextrously  sewing  on  what  appeared  like 
a  miniature  tambourine — upon  muslin  drawn  tightly 
over  a  little  wooden  hoop,  and  held  in  its  place  by 
an  outer  hoop,  closely  fitting  the  inner  one. 

"It   is  spriggin'  they  call   it,"  said  Mrs.  Dalton. 
"  By   working  day  and   evenings,   the  poor  cailins 
earn  a  rag  of  clothes  for  themselves  and  their  parents." 
"By  spriggin',"  said  Dillon,  "you  mean  embroid 
ery  ;  and  what  can  the  girls  earn  at  that  ?" 

'  The  youngest  one,  Bridget,"  said  the  mother, 
"earns  four  pence  a  day,  and  when'  Mary,  the  eldest, 
can  put  her  whole  time  to  it,  she  earns  as  much  as 
five  pence  a  day.  They  obtain  the  work  from  a 
Scotchman,  who  works  for  an  English  house,  and 
when  he  is  in  good  humor,  and  'doesn't  "dock" 
them,  the  wages  of  both  amount  to  something  like 
five  shillings  a  week.  But  what  can  the  poor  Cray- 
thurs  do  ?  There  is  no  other  employment  for  them. 
Meself  and  father  are  growing  old,  and  we  cannot 
be^wid  them  long.  It's  hard  to  part  them,  but,  hard 
as  h  is,  when  the  girls  can  save  enough,  they  are  both 
thinkin'  of  goin'  to  America.  We  have  some  rela 
tions  in^a  place  called  Waterbury,  in  the  State  of 
Connecticut,  and  their,  letters  say  that  girls  workino- 
there  in  the  factories  earn  in  a  single  day  as  much  as 
my  two  poor  girls  can  both  earn  in  a  week." 

The  fishing  nets  and  the  sprigging  were  at  last  put 
aside,  and  the  girls,  at  the  bidding  of  their  mother, 
favored  the  stranger  with  a  song :  '"Gra  macree  ma 
cailin  oge  ma  Mairie  bawn  as  tore" 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  109 

The  pile  of  bog  turf,  or  peat,  was  now  reduced  to 
living  coals;  the  candles  were  extinguished,  the  fire 
light  being  deemed  all-sufficient  and  appropriate  for 
the  time  and  the  occasion.  The  rosary  was  an 
nounced,  and,  the  father  leading  in  prayer,  all  offered 
up  their  hearts  to  God,  and  repeated  the  prayers  in 
a  language  that  for  fourteen  centuries  had  voiced  the 
devotions  of  the  people  of  Galway. 

A  little  before  daylight  next  morning,  Dillon, 
guided  by  old  man  Dalton,  passed  through  the  silent 
streets  of  the  quaint  old  town  to  Salt  Hill,  at  the 
other  extreme  of  the  city.  The  negro  was  waiting 
with  his  small  boat,  and  after  many  a  mutual  "  God 
be  with  you,"  the  black  man  and  his  new-found 
friend  set  out  across  the  bay,  and  by  daylight  had 
boarded  the  Hibernia. 

"  What  flag  is  that,"  inquired  Dillon,  "  floating 
from  that  pretty  little  vessel  near  the  mouth  of  the 
bay  ?  " 

"  That,"  said  the  black  man,  "  is  the  tri-color  of 
France.  The  boat  is  a  French  fishing  vessel.  And 
that,"  he  added,  "is  the  Union  Jack  of  England, 
that  flutters  from  the  black  gunboat  over  yonder  ; 
this,  to  the  right  of  us  is  the  German  flag  ;  and  the 
flag  that  floats  above  our  heads  is  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  of  America.  She's  a  dandy,  isn't  she  ?" 

"She  is,  indeed,"  said  Dillon. 

"  That  is  the  flag,"  said  the  negro,  "  that  gave 
shelter  to  millions  of  your  Irish  people.  It  is  the 
flag  that  was  borne  by  the  Union  army  that  routed 
the  old  slave  power,  and  it  is  the  flag  that  in  the 
famine  years  waved  over  the  ships  that  carried 
bread  and  meat  to  the  starving  Irish." 

"  God  bless  that  flag,  its  country  and  its  people !" 
said  the  exile,  with  all  the  fervor  of  an  uncontami- 
nated  Irish  heart. 

As  early  as  seven  o'clock,  the  lighter  commenced 


110  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

discharging-  its  cargoes  upon  the  ocean  ship.  Three 
hundred  emigrants  came  on  board.  There  were  few 
old  persons  or  infants  among  them.  There  was  the 
oldest  son  of  a  family,  leaving  a  country  that  afforded 
neither  labor  for  his  hands  nor  scope  for  any  honor 
able  ambition.  There  was  the  oldest  daughter  of 
another  family,  a  young  creature  scarcely  out  of  her 
teens,  playing  the  heroic  part  of  pioneer  for  the  rest 
of  the  family,  animated  by  the  ambition  to  save  her 
wages  and  "pay  the  passages"  of  all  the  other  chil 
dren.  They  came  by  rail  from  several  counties,  or 
they  came  on  carts  for  distances  of  twenty  or  thirty 
miles,  accompanied  by  friends  and  parents  and  lovers. 
Ah,  merciful  God,  what  sad  processions,  and  sadder 
partings  !  Mother  and  daughter  take  the  last  em 
brace.  The  gray-haired  father  is  torn  away  from  the 
throbbing  breast  of  the  stalwart  son,  never  to  meet 
him  on  earth  again.  The  tender  youth  bids  a  tearful 
farewell  to  a  weeping  girl,  to  whom  he  has  plighted 
his  troth,  and  the  vow  is  renewed  that  they  will  soon 
meet  again  upon  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic. 
Their  mingled  prayers  go  up  to  heaven  ;  their  long 
ing  eyes  look  westward  to  the  new  land  of  their 
hopes  and  homes,  and  they  picture  to  themselves 
the  great  Republic,  strong  and  gentle  mother  that 
she  is,  opening  wide  her  arms  and  receiving  the 
guiltless  outcasts  to  her  warm  young  breast ;  and 
look  with  the  eye  of  faith  upon  the  finger  of  God's  an 
gel  beckoning  them  across  the  Atlantic.  And  there  is 
a  parting  piercing  wail  as  the  lighter  leaves  the  wharf, 
and  bitter  weeping  as  she  steams  across  the  bay.  There 
are  waving  of  handkerchiefs,  and  a  parting  cheer 
from  the  vessel,  answered  by  a  farewell  wail  from 
shore  ;  the  anchor  is  weighed,  the  pilot  comes  on 
board,  the  sails  are  set,  and  the  emigrant  vessel  bears 
away  the  young  and  the  innocent,  the  youth  and  the 
beauty,  the  blood  and  the  bone,  the  heart  and  soul  of 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  Ill 

an  ancient  and  sadly  decimated  nation.  There  is  a 
lingering  look  at  the  Irish  coast  as  the  vessel  heads 
southwestward  past  the  cliffs  of  Clare,  and  three 
hundred  pairs  of  Irish  eyes  have  seen  for  the  last 
time  their  own  green  land,  the  "  Cinderella  of  the 
nations,"  their  island  home  of  beauty,  of  love  and 
of  sorrow. 

Dillon  is  not  permitted  to  witness  these  scenes, 
for  his  friend  Sexton  has  stowed  him  in  the  hold. 
He  is  a  "dead-head"  in  the  strictest  sense  of  the 
word.  He  has  neither  a  passage  ticket  nor  a  pound 
in  his  pocket. 

For  four  days  he  remained  securely  in  the  hold, 
regularly  supplied  with  food  from  the  galley  at  the 
hands  of  his  friend,  the  black  man.  But  during  the 
fifth  day  out  from  Galway,  the  stowaway  was  dis 
covered  by  some  of  the  sailors  working  in*the  hold, 
and  they  reported  to  the  first  mate,  who  immediately 
descended  and,  with  the  aid  of  the  sailors,  suddenly 
dragged  him  on  deck.  If  he  had  tamely  submitted, 
he  might  have  escaped  severe  physical  punishment  ; 
but  irritated  by  the  unnecessary  violence  of  one  of 
the  sailors,  he  broke  their  grasp  upon  him,  and  with 
a  blow  from  the  shoulder  knocked  his  tormentor  down. 
In  another  instant  the  second  mate  approached, 
armed  with  a  belaying  pin,  and  striking  him  upon 
the  head,  felled  him  to  the  deck.  Blood  streamed 
from  his  wound,  and  sailors  and  passengers  gathered 
abound  the  prostrate  man.  Slowly  regaining  con 
sciousness,  he  rose  from  his  position  and  feebly 
staggered  toward  the  galley.  The  second  mate  fol 
lowed,  and  raised  the  murderous  weapon  to  give  him 
another  blow,  when  suddenly  Anthony  Sexton,  the 
colored  cook,  rushed  from  the  galley,  and  standing 
back  to  back  with  the  wounded  stowaway,  stood  face 
to  face  with  the  second  mate,  with  carving  knife  in  hand. 

"  You  jus'  luf  him  alone,"  said  the  black  man. 


112  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

"  You  just  stand  aside,  you  black  son-of-a-seacook," 
said  the  enraged  mate,  or  I  break  in  your head." 

"You  jus'  try  it  on,"  said  the  negro. 

The  mate  accepted  the  challenge,  and  proceeded 
to  blows,  without  exchange  of  courtesies.  By  a  rapid 
blow  he  shivered  the  blade  of  the  carving  knife  and 
detached  its  handle  from  the  grasp  of  the  negro. 

Sexton   in  a  second  made  a  dash  for  the  mate  ;  . 
with  one  hand  grasped  the  belaying  pin,  and  with 
another  seized  his  assailant  by  the  throat. 

Both  were  powerful  men,  and  after  wrestling  for 
a  moment  the  mate  went  down,  with  the  black  man 
on  top.  But  it  was  a  momentary  ascendancy.  Half 
a  dozen  sailors  proceeded  to  kick  him.  The  mate 
sprang  to  his  feet,  belaying  pin  in  hand,  and  was 
rushing  at  the  prostrate  black  man,  when  the  captain 
came  upon  the  scene,  armed  with  a  revolver,  and 
commanded  a  cessation  of  hostilities.  The  stow 
away  and  his  defender  were  placed  in  irons,  and  the 
mate  ordered  to  his  quarters.  Next  morning  an 
investigation  of  the  affair  was  made  by  the  captain, 
with  the  result  that  mate  and  cook  were  severely 
reprimanded,  and  ordered  to  their  respective  duties, 
the  services  of  each  being  indispensable. 

Dillon's  wound,  at  first  supposed  to  be  a  fracture 
of  the  skull,  proved  upon  examination  to  be  a  dan 
gerous  contusion.  The  steerage  passengers  set  apart 
for  him  the  most  comfortable  berth  in  the  steerage, 
and  there  was  no  dearth  of  kindly  attention  from 
the  men,  or  of  tender  nursing  on  the  part  of  the 
women. 

He  became  delirious,  and  for  days,  at  intervals, 
raved  in  most  pitiable  forms.  He  imagined  that  he 
was  in  America ;  that  he  had  entered  the  Union 
army  ;  that  he  was  leading  forlorn  hopes  and  bayonet 
charges,  animated  by  his  heart's  desire  to  "strike  a 
blow  for  the  freedom  of  the  negro," 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  113 

"  Forward,  boys  ! "  he  would  say  at  times,  wildly 
plunging  from  his  bed.  On  these  occasions  two 
strong  men  were  required  to  keep  him  down. 

At  other  times  he  would  sing  snatches  of  Irish 
•'treason  songs,"  such  as  "Who  Fears  to  Speak  of 
Ninety-eight?"  "  Paddies  Evermore,"  "  O'Donnell 
Aboo,"  or  "The  Green  Above  the  Red." 

The  bed-quilt,  composed  of  many  colors,  chiefly 
of  red,  white  and  blue,  to  his  disordered  mind  was 
an  American  flag.  He  at  times  would  frantically 
kiss  its  hem,  or,  seizing  it  by  a  corner,  would  attempt 
to  wave  it. 

In  his  calmer  moments  his  fancy  would  run  to 
Nancy  McHugh. 

"  Cailin  macree"  he  would  tenderly  say,  "when" 
this  war  is  over,   won't  we  return  and  strike  a  blow 
for  Ireland?  and  when  the  old  sod  is  free,  won't  you 
and  I  be  happy?" 

And  finally,  exhausted,  he  would  raise  the  right 
hand  to  his  wounded  head,  and,  supposing  himself 
dying  on  a  battle-field,  would  utter,  in  tones  scarcely 
audible  :  "  Oh,  that  this  was  for  Ireland  !" 

By  the  tenderest  care  and  nursing,  he  was  restored 
to  life  before  the  end  of  the  voyage.  Dillon  had 
made  friends  of  the  three  hundred  emigrants,  but  his 
dearest  friend  was  the  American  negro.  To  him  he 
bade  his  most  heartfelt  and  tender  farewell. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

GETTING  ACCLIMATED. 

Dillon  stepped  on  shore,  his  negro 
friend  handed  him  a  five-dollar  green 
back,  warmly  shook  his  hand,  and  the 
two  friends  mutually  expressed  the  hope 
that  they  would  soon  meet  again.  Three 
hundred  Irish  immigrants  were  added  to  the  Amer 
ican  population  ;  three  hundred  strangers,  male  and 
female,  were  marched  into  Castle  Garden.  Many  of 
them  were  met  by  friends,  and  as  their  names  were 
loudly  called  by  an  officer  at  the  immigration  bureau, 
they  passed  out  through  a  gate  and  into  the  arms  of 
their  relatives.  There  were  others  called,  who  re 
ceived  letters  containing  railway  tickets  or  money 
remittances,  to  enable  them  to  join  their  friends  in 
Pennsylvania,  New  York,  New  Jersey,  and  New 
England.  There  were  others  who  hoped  to  meet 
some  friend,  to  recognize  some  face  in  the  new  land, 
but  hoped  in  vain  ;  and  there  was  more  than  half  of 
the  whole  three  hundred  who  saw  no  friend  and  who 
received  no  letter,  but  who  stoojd  in  Castle  Garden, 
strangers  in  a  strange  land  ;  whose  possessions  in 
many  cases  amounted  to  a  bundle  of  clothing  and  a 
shilling  or  a  pound  in  English  money.  Some  few  of 
them  were  absolutely  penniless.  They  were  all 
anxious  to  obtain  employment.  A  majority  had  been 
raised  upon  farms  (so-called)  in  Ireland,  but  of  this 
agricultural  class,  not  one  in  five  had  ever  formed 
the  intimate  acquaintance  of  a  plow.  Some  of  them 
had  never  harnessed  a  horse,  and  not  one  in  ten  had 
learned  how  to  manage  a  team.  Horse-teams,  plows 
and  wagons  were  only  possessed  by  the  wealthier 
farmers  in  Ireland  then.  The  donkey,  the  cart  and 
the  spade,  the  reaping  hook  and  the  scythe  were  the 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  115 

Irish  aids  in  agriculture.  As  to  mechanical  trades, 
they  were  at  a  still  greater  disadvantage.  Among 
them  were  a  few  tailors,  shoe-makers,  stone-masons 
and  blacksmiths  ;  good  mechanics  in  their  way,  for 
Irish  heads  and  hands  are  susceptible  of  mechanical 
knowledge,  and  with  fair  opportunities  the  Irishman, 
trained  to  any  given  employment,  will  favorably  com 
pare  with  the  man  of  any  other  nationality.  There 
was  not  one  machinist  among  the  whole  three  hun 
dred  ;  not  one  man  who  could  put  the  parts  of  a 
watch  together ;  not  a  man  who  could  make  a  pistol, 
a  gun  or  a  gun-cap  ;  not  one  who  had  ever  seen  a 
yard  of  cotton  cloth  manufactured,  and  not  ten  who 
had  ever  worked  in  a  brick-yard  or  a  saw-mill.  They 
came  from  a  country  whose  industries  had  been  de 
stroyed  by  legislation ;  whose  capital  is  annually 
drained  out  of  the  pockets  of  the  agriculturist ; 
whose  trade  and  commerce  are  paralyzed,  and  whose 
children  are  sent  adrift  upon  the  world,  handicapped 
by  the  curse  of  industrial  ignorance,  with  heads  and 
hands  deprived  of  the  skill  and  cunning  that,  in  this, 
age  of  mechanism,  give  to  men  and  nations  an  equal 
chance  in  the  race  of  life. 

That  which  was  true  of  the  men,  was  more  forci 
bly  true  of  the  women.  They  had  strong  and  willing 
hands,  brave  and  virtuous  souls,  but  their  industrial 
skill  fitted  them  only  for  the  humbler  tasks  of  do 
mestic  service.  British  law  had  not  only  impover 
ished  them  at  home  ;  it  pursued  them  into  exile.  It 
had  made  in  former  times  the  task  of  the  school 
master  a  felony ;  it  had  driven  industrial  knowledge 
from  the  island,  and  then  mercilessly  pursued  them 
with  its  press  and  its  lecturers  to  taunt  them  with  ac 
cusations  of  ignorance.  Thus  handicapped,  they  were 
compelled  to  commence  life  in  the  new  world  at  the 
lowest  round  of  the  ladder ;  and  when  their  circum 
stances  are  fully  considered,  it  is  marvelous  how  they 
climb,  and  how  many  of  them  reach  the  top. 


116  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

Dillon  had  no  training  in  any  regular  employment. 
He  had  a  good  common  school  education;  he  had 
some  knowledge  of  Latin,  and  the  rudiments  of 
French ;  he  could  read  and  write  and  cipher,  but  his 
education  did  not  equip  him  to  earn  a  living.  He 
had  studied  arithmetic,  the  elements  of  Euclid  and 
geography  ;  but  he  was  neither  a  land  surveyor,  a 
navigator  nor  a  book-keeper.  He  was  willing  to 
work  at  anything,  but  he  was  utterly  unused  to  tools 
or  labor  of  any  kind. 

Leaving  Castle  Garden,  he  sauntered  up  Wash 
ington  street,  and  attracted  by  some  of  his  fellow 
emigrants  who  had  preceded  him,  he  entered  a  lodg 
ing  house  in  the  third  or  fourth  block  from  the  lower 
end  of  the  street.  Retiring  to  a  dingy,  dirty  little 
room  on  the  third  floor,  he  soon  undressed  himself 
and  went  to  bed,  for  he  was  tired,  having  spent  the 
preceding  night  on  the  deck  of  the  Hibernia  without 
sleep.  He  had  locked  his  door,  and  closed  his  eyes, 
and  was  entering  upon  his  coveted  sleep,  when  he  was 
suddenly  aroused  by  a  scraping  noise  upon  the  wall. 
Looking  in  the  direction  of  the  noise,  he  saw  that 
somebody  had  inserted  a  fishing  pole  through  the 
transom-light,  and  was  lifting  his  pantaloons  from  the 
peg  on  which  they  hung.  The  fisher  for  pants  had 
succeeded  so  far  as  to  drag  the  garment  through  the 
transom,  when  Dillon  sprang  from  the  bed,  suddenly 
unlocked  the  door,  and  recapturing  his  pants,  kicked 
the  thief  down  stairs  into  the  bar-room  of  the  lodg 
ing  house.  The  robber  was  no  less  a  person  than 
the  proprietor  of  the  hotel,  a  prominent  politician, 
president  of  the  famous  "Hickory  Club" — the  most 
influential  citizen  in  the  wardl 

"  Police!  police  I  police!'' 

A  member  of  the  famous  force  responded,  and 
on  complaint  of  the  landlord,  took  Dillon  in  charge 
for  the  distinct  offenses  of  assault  and  battery,  and 
drunk  and  disorderly. 


IKISH  REPUBLICANISM.  117 

He  spent  the  night  at  the  station-house,  and  next 
morning  was  arraigned  at  the  Tombs  Police  Court. 
He  was  duly  convicted  upon  the  testimony  of  the 
landlord  ;  and  the  presiding  magistrate  was  opening 
his  precious  mouth  to  pronounce  sentence,  when  a 
fine-looking  gentleman,  dressed  in  broadcloth,  ap 
proached  the  bench  and  begged  for  a  moment's  con 
ference  with  his  Honor.  The  request  was  cheerfully 
granted  ;  they  retired  to  the  judge's  private  room, 
and  on  the  return  of  his  Honor  to  the  bench,  Dillon 
was  severely  reprimanded  and  discharged. 

"  You  must  be  careful  for  the  future,"  said  Justice 
Divvy,  "  how  you  disregard  the  peace  and  person  of 
such  an  honored  citizen  as  the  complaining  witness." 

The  gentleman  in  British  broadcloth  led  the 
stranger  out  of  court  and  into  a  fashionable  saloon 
on  Chambers  street.  They  drank  a  couple  of  times, 
and  the  man  of  broadcloth  proceeded  to  scrutinize 
the  emigrant.  He  lifted  Dillon's  little  narrow- 
brimmed  hat  from  off  his  head,  kicked  it  into  the 
street, , and,  leading  the  hatless  man  to  a  store  on 
Broadway,  "rigged  him  out"  in  a  splendid  five-dollar 
broad-brimmed  Stetson  hat. 

"  These  nasty  little  English  hats  are  no  ornament 
to  the  head  of  an  American  citizen,"  he  observed. 

He  then  led  the  stranger  to  a  clothing  store,  and 
fitted  him  out  with  new  underclothes  and  a  suit  of 
American  tweed. 

Dillon  was  astonished,  and  twenty  times,  while  in 
process  of  renovation,  earnestly  exclaimed:  "  Free 
America !  generous  Americans  !  " 

Finally,  the  man  of  broadcloth  took  him  to  the 
restaurant  at  Sweeny's  Hotel,  and  "  rounded  him 
out,"  as  he  expressed  it,  with  such  a  meal  as  Dillon 
had  never  eaten  before,  with  Dublin  stout  galore  to 
wash  it  down. 

"Andy,"  said  the  gentleman  in  broadcloth,  "don't 
you  know  me  ?  " 


118  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

Dillon  taxed  his  vision  and  his  memory  to  their 
utmost,  but  he  couldn't  recognize  his  friend.  He 
gave  it  up. 

"  Don't  you  know  Pat  Byrne,  from  Abbey  Car- 
tron?"  said  his  friend. 

"  How  the  devil  could  I  know  you?"  said  Dillon. 
"  They  have  been  calling  you  Mr.  John  P.  Burns, 
and  Alderman  Burns." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  alderman,  "it  was  Byrne  at  home, 
but  it  is  Burns  here,  and  I  have  stuck  on  the  'John* 
in  front ;  it's  a  little  more  fashionable  than  Pat." 

Sure  enough,  it  was  Patsy  Byrne,  an  old  school 
mate  of  Dillon,  some  five  years  older  than  himself. 
He  had  emigrated  seven  years  before  ;  had  done  a 
very  prosperous  business,  first  as  a  bar-tender,  and 
then  as  a  liquor  dealer  on  his  own  account ;  and 
being  young,  smart  and  handsome,  and  highly  influ 
ential  on  account  of  his  business,  he  soon  climbed 
the  ladder  of  fortune  and  fame  in  New  York  City 
politics.  He  had  been  in  the  police  court  on  politi 
cal  business  on  the  morning  of  Dillon's  conviction, 
and,  recognizing  the  youth,  came  to  his  rescue.  He 
now  brought  the  emigrant  to  his  place  of  business, 
on  one  of  the  busy  streets  running  eastward  from  the 
Bowery.  Dillon  thought  it  a  beautiful  establishment. 
Above  the  door  and  beside  it  there  were  gilded  signs: 
"John  P.  Burns,  dealer  in  foreign  and  domestic 
whiskies,  brandies,  wines,  liquors  and  cigars."  There 
were' rosewood  counters,  and  shelving  laden  with  the 
bottled  goods,  silver-mounted  faucets  and  beer- 
pumps.  This  palace  occupied  a  corner.  There  was 
also  a  "  private  entrance  "  through  a  hall  door,  over 
whose  portals  ran  the  legend:  "  Bottled  wines  and 
liquors  for  family  use."  To  this  private  entrance 
there  came  a  procession  of  shabbily-dressed  women, 
boys  and  girls,  with  empty  bottles,  pitchers  and  tin 
cans.  A  special  bar-tender  waited  on  these  through 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  119 

an  opening  in  the  wall  at  the  end  of  the  bar.  Dillon 
was  astonished  at  the  run  for  whisky  and  beer  for 
family  use.  He  did  not  remain  long,  however,  to 
witness  it.  He  was  tired.  His  friend,  the  alder 
man,  made  arrangements  for  him  in  a  neighbor 
ing  house,  and  here  he  may  be  said  to  have  com 
menced  life  in  the  city  of  New  York. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

HOW    DEMOCRATS   ARE  MADE. 

1CCORDING  to  appointment,  "  the 
greenhorn,"  Dillon,  appeared  at  the  es 
tablishment  of  Alderman  Burns.  The 
alderman  himself  seemed  to  bear  no 
part  in  the  business  of  the  house,  ex 
cept  to  draw  moneys  from  the  tills  and  to  hold 
informal  receptions.  Three  bar-tenders,  in  white 
aprons  and  wearing  diamond  pins,  were  there  to  do 
the  heavy  work. 

Laboring  men,  shabbily  dressed,  appeared  at  the 
bar  from  time  to  time,  drank  their  liquor,  deposited 
fractional  currency,  and  greeted  the  elegant  propri 
etor,  who  in  turn  beamed  upon  each  customer  a  most 
benignant  smile.  He  would  even  condescend  to 

o 

shake  hands  and  crack  jokes  with  some  of  them. 
"  A  pleasant  mornin'  this  mornin',  Alderman." 
"  A  delightful  mornin'.    How  are  you  this  mornin*, 
Briney?" 

Sometimes  his  great  mind  would  be  diverted  by 
an  application  for  credit  in  "the  family  department." 
He  would  dispose  of  these  customers  with  a  smile 
and  a  refusal.  He  did  a  cash  business,  but'  he  would 


120  ERIN   MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

give  the  lady  who  called  "thewettin1  of  her  whistle" 
as  a  balm  for  her  wounded  feelings.  This  particular 
morning  he  was  deeply  laden  with  the  affairs  of  state. 
"The  Registration  Bureau"  was  open  for  business 
on  Chatham  street.  To  this  bureau  he  led  Dillon 
and  several  other  recent  arrivals. 

"  And  what  do  he  be  takin'  us  to  the  bureau  for?" 
said  one  of  the  emigrants. 

"  He  do  be  takin'  us,"  explained  another,  "to  get 
us  our  papers  and  make  us  Democrats." 

"  And  what  do  we  do  wid  our  papers?"  said  the 
first  speaker;  "and  what  is  a  Democrat?" 

"A  Democrat,"  said  the  alderman,  "is  a  Demo 
crat — one  who  votes  the  Democratic  ticket  and 
belongs  to  the  Democratic  party.  The  Democratic 
party  is  the  white  man's  party,  the  party  that's  agin 
the  nigger.  It  is  the  Irishman's  party,  and  any 
Irishman  who  kicks  on  votin'  the  ticket  is  a  thraithor 
and  a  turncoat." 

The  procession  started  for  the  "  naturalization 
bureau,"  and  Dillon  and  the  other  emigrants  were 
duly  enrolled  as  members  of  the  Democratic  party. 
Each  of  the  new  members  was  furnished  with  a 
certificate  of  naturalization  ;  they  all  drank  hearty  to 
the  party  and  its  friends,  and  confusion  and  defeat  to 
Abe  Lincoln,  the  nigger  and  the  radical  party. 

Alderman  Burns  gave  to  each  of  the  new  recruits 
a  five-dollar  bill,  or  provided  him  with  a  week's  board 
and  lodging,  giving  precise  directions  as  to  the  rally 
ing  point  on  the  morning  of  election. 

Dillon  was  not  entirely  satisfied.  He  had  a  vague 
idea  that  a  man  could  not  become  a  citizen  of  the 
United  States  within  a  week  of  his  arrival. 

"Patsy,"  said  he,  addressing  the  great  leader. 
The  alderman  scowled.  "  I  beg  pardon,"  said  the 
Democratic  recruit;  " Alderman  Burns,  I  mane. 
Will  you  tell  me  what's  a  citizen  ?  " 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  121 

"A  citizen,"  said  the  alderman,  "a  citizen,  you 
omathaum,  is  a  citizen — a  man  who  votes." 

"  Doesn't  he,"  said  Andy,  "  have  to  take  an  oath, 
or  swear  allegiance  or  somethin'  of  the  sort?" 

"  He  does,"  replied  the  alderman,  "if  he's  sus 
pected  of  favorin'  the  Republicans.  Now,  Andy, 
darlin',  a  close  mouth  catches  no  flies.  If  you'll  ask 
me  no  questions,  I'll  tell  you  no  lies.  You're  a 
citizen  and  a  Democrat — a  Jacksonian  Democrat ; 
and  maybe,  it's  a  policeman  I'd  make  of  you  one  of 
these  days." 

That  evening  there  was  a  great  procession.  It 
started  from  City  Hall  place,  and  marched  up  the 
Bowery,  to  the  Cooper  Institute.  A  great  meeting 
was  arranged,  to  take  place  in  the  great  hall  of  the 
Cooper  Union. 

There  were  several  German  bands  ;  a  body  of 
of  business  men ;  European  importers  and  their 
clerks,  porters  and  salesmen  ;  clothing  men  from 
Chatham  street  and  the  Bowery,  with  little  in  their 
language  or  appearance  suggestive  of  American  birth 
or  sentiment.  Then  came  the  young  men's  Hickory 
Club— a  stalwart  set,  five  or  six  hundred,  chiefly 
Irish- Americans.  Then  came  the  Laborers'  Demo 
cratic  Union,  and  in  the  rear  -  came  the  White 
Man's  Government  Club.  This  club  numbered  about 
four  hundred,  the  members  presenting  an  appearance 
repulsive  in  the  extreme. 

Dillon  inquired  of  his  friend,  the  alderman,  who 
the  White  Men's  Government  Club  were. 

'Them,"  said  the  aldermen  proudly,  "are  my 
boys  ;  every  black-leg,  pick-pocket,  shop-lifter,  burg 
lar  and  cut- throat  in  my  ward,  as  far  as  I  know." 

"Them,"  said  Dillon,  "are  the  Republicans,  I 
suppose  ?" 

"Andy,  jewel,"  said  the  alderman,  "don't  be  so 
inquisitive.  They  are  my  friends  on  election  day, 


122  ERLN   MOR:    THE  STOEY  OF 

and  I  never  look  a  gift  horse  in  the  mouth.  One  of 
their  votes  is  just  as  good  as  the  vote  of  Peter 
Cooper  or  John  Jacob  Astor." 

There  was  a  great  meeting  at  Cooper  Union. 
The  hall  was  filled  to  overflowing,  with  five  hundred 
men  standing  near  the  doors,  and  the  very  door 
ways  crowded  to  suffocation.  Every  square  foot 
upon  the  platform  was  occupied.  The  audience,  in 
cluding  those  upon  the  platform,  was  composed 
chiefly  of  Irish-Americans.  A  fine-looking  audi 
ence,  too.  Four  thousand  men,  perhaps.  All  in  all, 
it  was  a  splendid  meeting.  One  hundred  prominent 
citizens  occupied  the  platform  ;  and  as  Dillon  gazed 
upon  that  vast  assembly  he  could  not  control  the 
pride  of  his  heart  that  he  was  an  Irishman  and  a 
Democrat. 

Richard  O'Gorman  was  the  orator.  He  was  Cor 
poration  Counsel  of  the  city  of  New  York,  and  was 
then  in  the  very  fullness  of  his  mental  and  physical 
power  ;  a  man  of  splendid  presence,  and  in  his  day 
one  of  the  foremost  political  orators  of  the  Demo 
cratic  party.  He  had  borne  some  part  in  the  abortive 
revolution  in  Ireland  in  1848  ;  had  fled  from  the 
Green  Island  in  his  youth,  and  became  in  New  York 
City  "an  Irishman  by  trade." 

After  the  preliminaries  Hon.  Richard  O'Gorman 
was  introduced,  and  was  greeted  with  tremendous 
cheering.  He  commented  severely  on  Mr.  Lincoln's 
administration  ;  deplored  the  emancipation  of  the 
negro  as  a  violation  of  constitutional  right;  predicted 
disastrous  results  from  the  freedom  of  the  black  man, 
and  ingeniously  confounded  social  and  political 
equality.  But  it  was  his  sympathetic  plea  for  the 
conquered  Confederacy,  of  mercy  •  for  the  stricken 
South,  that  evoked  the  cheers  of  the  audience;  and 
as  he  drew  comparisons  between  a  persecuted  Ire 
land  and  a  stricken  South,  in  language  touchingly 


IEISH  REPUBLICANISM.  123 

pathetic  and  eloquent,  there  were  tears  and  sobs 
interspersed  with  cheers  from  the  audience.  He  re 
minded  Irishmen  of  the  early  history  of  the  Demo 
cratic  party,  when  the  Irish  were  few  and  feeble  in 
America  ;  how  the  Democracy  gave  them  their  rights 
and  protected  their  persons  and  their  liberties ;  how 
the  great  Democratic  organization,  in  its  friendliness 
for  foreigners,  was  true  to  principle  as  needle  to  pole. 

That  speech  made  Dillon  a  Democrat.  It  ap 
pealed  to  his  sympathies  and  his  reason,  and  in  after 
years,  under  every  different  circumstance  and  com 
pletely  different  issues,  when  every  feeling,  every 
reason,  and  every  motive  of  love,  hatred,  enlight 
ened  selfishness  and  patriotic  duty  told  him  that  he 
could  no  longer  vote  the  Democratic  ticket,  he  found 
it  hard  to  efface  from  his  affections  his  Democratic 
love  as  painted  by  Richard  O'Gorman. 

He  left  the  hall  of  the  Cooper  Union  that  night  a 
Democrat.  He  would  repay  by  devotion  the  Irish 
debt  of  gratitude  to  the  Democratic  party,  and  he  did. 

Alderman  John  P.  Burns  presented  to  him  ample 
opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  his  suffrage  and  his 
generosity. 

Election  morning  arrived,  with  its  brass  bands, 
banners,  carriages,  mottoes  and  election  booths. 

Dillon  was  seated  with  three  other  recruits  in  an 
open  carriage.  With  the  driver  sat  a  "  worker," 
whose  business  it  was  to  "vote"  the  emigrants. 
There  was  difficulty  with  one  of  the  recruits.  He 
was  an  Italian,  named  Diego  Rosacco,  and  he  could 
not  understand  why  he  should  vote  as  David  Brown, 
Richard  Williams  and  Jacob  Schnauber ;  but  he  voted 
all  the  same,  and  successfully  personated  three  Repub 
licans  who  had  died  in  the  city  since  the  last  election. 
Dillon,  by  casting  three  different  ballots  in  as  many 
precincts,  testified  his  gratitude  and  devotion  to  the 
Democratic  party,  and  he  did  it  with  a  clear  con 
science.  He  was  an  Irishman,  and  if  by  virtue  of 


124  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

that  fact  he  was  in  duty  bound  to  vote  the  Demo 
cratic  ticket,  and  if  by  doing  so  he  was  circumventing 
the  Republican  tyrants  and  the  Knownothings,  he 
had  performed  a  noble  duty  and  a  virtuous  act. 

With  all  the  light  he  had  upon  the  subject,  he  was 
eminently  conscientious  and  patriotic.  It  was  not 
his  crime.  It  was  the  crime  of  Alderman  Burns  and 
the  great  organization  of  which  he  was  a  shining 
light  and  influential  member.  If  Andrew  Dillon,  on 
his  arrival,  had  met  no  Democratic  worker,  and  had 
entered  no  Democratic  recruiting  shop,  but  had  been 
favored  by  the  acquaintance  of  some  good  citizen, 
who  would  enlighten  him  as  to  his  duties  and  rights 
under  the  law,  and  who  would  appeal  to  all  that  was 
wise,  patriotic  and  generous  in  his  nature,  he  might 
have  easily  become  a  devoted  Republican  and  a  law- 
abiding  man. 

But  he  was  an  Irishman.  He  had  landed  at 
Castle  Garden,  had  entered  the  devil's  political  net, 
and  became  charged  to  the  teeth  with  the  virus  of 
the  so-called  Democracy. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

"GREATER   IRELAND." 

HE  war  of  the  Rebellion  was  at  an  end, 
and  the  streets  of  New  York  were  en 
livened  by  dissolving  views  of  the  vic 
torious  army.  Remnants  of  regiments, 
men  with  bleared  faces,  ragged  regi 
mentals  and  tattered  battle-flags,  marched  along 
Broadway  to  the  music  of  military  bands.  Crippled 
veterans,  some  who  had  lost  a  leg,  some  who  had 
ost  an  arm,  some  hobbling  along  on  crutches,  others 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  125 

tottering  on  wounded  or  enfeebled  limbs,  were  famil 
iar  figures.  There  was  joy  over  the  return  of  hus 
bands,  fathers  and  sons,  and  commensurate  grief  in 
the  households  of  those  whose  beloved  ones  were 
missing  from  the  ranks  of  the  living,  and  mustered 
in  upon  "the  eternal  camping  ground  of  fame." 

The  heroic  remnant  of  Lee's  once  powerful  army 
had  surrendered  to  General  Grant.  The  Con 
federacy  died  as  it  had  lived,  heroically,  true  to  its 
solemn  pledge  that  it  would  "die  in  the  last  ditch," 
and  so  it  died.  The  Confederacy  was  not  merely 
conquered,  as  other  great  rebellions  were.  Its  forces 
were  not  merely  outnumbered.  The  Confederacy 
disappeared  only  when  its  civil  government  and  mil 
itary  power  were  literally  annihilated.  Neither  his 
tory  nor  fiction  nor  time  can  obliterate  the  record. 
The  Confederacy  bravely  fought  and  heroically 
perished.  There  is  nothing  in  the  record  of  the 
fighting  men  to  shame  the  valor  of  the  American 
people. 

There  was  joy  throughout  the  North,  and  though 
the  bitterness  of  defeat  rankled  at  the  Southern  heart, 
it  was  a  blessed  hour  for  North  and  South  when  the 
angel  of  peace  spread  its  wings  above  Grant  and  Lee 
at  Appomattox.  Amid  the  general  rejoicing  that 
followed  the  surrender  of  Lee  came  the  terrible  news 
of  the  assassination  of  Lincoln  ;  and  again  the  land 
was  steeped  in  gloom,  and  again  the  Nation  wept 
sad,  bitter  tears,  and  dressed  itself  in  deepest  mourn 
ing.  Among  the  wise,  the  virtuous  and  the  merci 
ful,  there  was  no  difference  of  opinion  as  to  the  cruel 
murder.  It  was  generally  deplored.  Since  Christ 
had  died  on  Calvary,  no  nobler  figure  passed  from 
earth.  But  in  the  slums  of  New  York  City  there  was 
rejoicing  over  the  death  of  Lincoln.  The  chief 
demon  of  the  Republicans  had  been  killed,  and  great 
was  the  joy  in  the  breathing-places  of  hell  at  Gotham. 


126  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

The  public  buildings,  the  great  business  houses, 
churches,  residences  and  squares  were  draped  in 
mourning,  and  a  general  gloom  pervaded  the  coun 
tenance  of  every  law-abiding  and  liberty-loving  man. 

The  Irish  emigrant  found  it  difficult  to  compre 
hend  how  there  could  be  a  divided  public  opinion  as 
to  the  death  of  Lincoln.  The  native  American 
people  generally  deplored  it,  and  among  them  there 
were  heard  expressions  of  sorrow,  anxiety,  rage  and 
revenge.  Among  the  industrious  and  respectable 
Irish,  too,  there  was  scarcely  a  division  of  opinion. 
They  condemned  the  assassination  as  a  wanton, 
cruel,  uncalled-for  murder,  contrary  to  their  Christian 
feelings  and  patriotic  instincts. 

Andy  Dillon's  sweetest  consolation  in  exile  was  the 
contemplation  of  a  "Greater  Ireland."  His  liberty- 
loving  soul  yearned  to  gaze  upon  his  exiled  race  in 
its  trans-Atlantic  home,  where  free  institutions,  un 
limited  opportunities  and  equality  before  the  law 
afforded  ample  scope  for  the  exercise  of  the  "  cloudy 
and  lightning  genius  of  the  Gael."  His  countrymen 
were  all  friends  of  liberty,  of  course>  and  no  doubt 
they  had  hoarded  up  to  the  credit  side  of  their  honor 
a  burning  sympathy  with  the  emancipation  of  the 
black  man. 

One  morning,  while  his  soul  was  filled  with  these 
delightful  fancies,  he  saw,  at  the  corner  of  Chambers 
street  and  Broadway,  a  little  yellow  man  engaged  in 
a  hand-to-hand  fight  with  a  crowd  of  boot-blacks. 

"  Hit  'im  agin/Patsy  !"  "  Go  it,  Micky !"  "  Give 
it  to  de  bloke !"  "  Murder  de  dam  Chinaman !" 
"  Smash  him,  Tommy  !"  "  Dat's  right — hit  him  wid 
de  box!"  These  were  the  sounds  that  disturbed  his 
reverie.  He  hurried  to  the  rescue  of  the  stranger, 
and  succeeded  in  scaring  away  the  Chinaman's  tor 
mentors.  He  then  extended  to  the  little  yellow  man 
the  right  hand  of  fellowship,  and  advanced  in  his 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  127 

most  eloquent  words  the  doctrine  of  the  universal 
brotherhood  of  man ;  but  the  Chinaman  "  feared  the 
Greeks,  even  when  bearing  gifts/'  and,  with  a  con 
tinued  aspect  of  fear,  declined  the  proffered  hand. 

"  Don't  be  afraid  o'  me,  darlin',"  said  Dillon.  "I'm 
a  friend  of  the  foreigner.  I'm  a  Democrat.  I  am 
your  friend." 

"  Hellee!  Me  no  takee  hand.  You  no  Melican 
man — you  Ilishman."  But  the  voice  and  manner  of 
the  emigrant  were  so  persuasive  that  the  Chinaman 
at  last  believed  him  sincere,  and  gave  him  his  con 
fidence. 

"Why,"  said  Dillon,  "don't  you  be  an  omathaun. 
I'm  your  friend  ;  I'll  protect  you.  I'm  a  Democrat ; 
and  I  suppose  you,  bein'  a  foreigner,  are  also  a  Dem 


ocrat." 


"You  bettee  me  no  Limoclat!"  said  the  Chinaman. 
"Me  no  Ilishman.  Ebelee  Ilishman  a  Limoclat, 
an*  ebelee  Limoclat  an  Ilishman."  And  the  China 
man  explained  that  he  was  not  a  citizen.  He  had 
only  one  idea  in  politics — a  hatred  of  the  Demo 
cratic  party  ;  for,  as  he  understood  it,  every  Irishman 
was  a  Democrat,  and  every  Democrat  an  Irishman. 

Somewhat  discouraged  at  this  first  exhibition  of 
liberality,  as  preached  by  the  tongues  and  blacking- 
boxes  of  the  gamins,  he  turned  back  on  Chambers 
street,  and  on  up  Chatham  street  toward  the  business 
place  of  Alderman  Burns.  There  surely  would  he 
hear  the  gospel  of  liberty — in  that  center  of  civiliza 
tion,  in  that  hotbed  of  Democracy.  On  approaching 
the  place,  he  was  surprised  and  delighted  to  see  his 
friend  of  the  Hibernia,  Tony  Sexton,  the  black 
man,  who  had  traced  him  from  the  boarding  house; 
but  his  friend  looked  greatly  excited,  and  as  Dillon 
warmly  grasped  the  hand  of  his  benefactor,  a  mur 
mur  of  dissent  and  a  derisive  laugh  went  up  from 
the  crowd  around  the  bar.  Alderman  Burns  gave  an 


128  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

overpowering  though  somewhat  dignified  scowl ;  but 
Dillon  begged  their  attention  for  a  moment,  and  sup 
posed  he  would  excite  the  proverbial  generosity  of 
the  race  by  reciting  the  story  of  the  negro's  manly 
and  heroic  treatment  of  himself. 

"  And  now,  there,"  he  concluded  ;  "  doesn't  that 
beat  Damon  and  Pythias  ?" 

"  It  doesn't  make  a  pinch  of  difference,  Andy," 
said  the  alderman,  "if  he  suffered  crucifixion  for 
ye  ;  he's  a  nigger,  and  out  he  goes ! "  and  half  a 
dozen  voices  echoed  the  dictate  of  the  alderman  : 
''Out  wid  him!"  "Out  wid  the  bloody  nigger!" 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Dillon,  "this  black  man  is  my 
friend — my  dearest  friend  on  earth.  He  found  me 
penniless  in  Galway  ;  he  stowed  me  away  in  his  ship, 
and  afterwards,  when  I  was  discovered,  he  risked  his 
life  to  defend  me." 

"  No  matter  ;  he's  a  nigger  !  "  said  one. 

"  You're  whistlin';  he's  a  naygur  !  "  said  another. 

"  Out  he  goes  !  "  said  a  third  one. 

"  Bounce  him ! "  added  the  third  fellow  at  the  lunch 
counter. 

"  But,  gentlemen,  said  Dillon,  "  he's  my  friend, 
and  poorly  it  becomes  an  Irishman  to  turn  his  back 
upon  one  who  in  need  befriended  him." 

But  Alderman  Burns'  word  was  law,  and  the  black 
man  turned  and  went  out. 

"Very  well,"  said  Dillon;  "  if  he  goes,  I'll  go; 
good  night.  Grateful  for  past  favors,  alderman,  I 
may  lose  you  as  a  friend,  but  I'll  not  be  false  to 
human  nature.  I'll  never  be  guilty  of  ingratitude." 

"  Stop  awhile,"  said  several  voices.  "Andy,  don't 
be  a  fool.  Let  the  damn  nigger  go.  You  are  actin' 
like  an  abolitionist." 

But  Andy  disregarded  their  entreaties,  and  hur 
ried  into  the  street,  in  company  with  his  friend. 

But  before  he  went  away,  he  returned  to  the  door, 
and  facing  the  crowd,  he  said  : 

c^  ' 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  129 

day  will  come  when  a  generation  of  Irishmen, 
yet  unborn,  will  blush  for  deeds  like  this.  The  school 
master  is  abroad  in  Ireland,  and  is  doing  the  work 
that  will  give  to  the  world  a  newer  and  a  nobler  gen 
eration.  And  is  this  your  love  of  liberty,  that  came 
to  us  in  wails  across  the  ocean  ?  And  is  this  your 
Democracy?  If  so,  may  the  devil  fly  away  wid 
Democracy !  " 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

STILL   CHASING  HIS  "ERIN  MOR." 


UY  a  shovel,   young  man  ;    here's  a  two- 
dollar  note.     Buy  a  shovel." 

This  was  the  advice  Andy  Dillon  re 
ceived  from  Horace  Greeley,  with  whom 
he  had  obtained  an  interview. 
During  Sunday  night  he  became  possessed  with 
an  idea  which  he  regarded  as  an  inspiration.  He 
could  not  live  upon  freedom's  air  alone,  so  he  must 
find  employment,  and  the  occupation  most  congenial 
to  his  taste,  most  harmonious  with  his  lofty  desires, 
was  editorial  writing.  On  Monday  he  sought  the 
office  of  the  New  York  Tribune,  edited  by  Horace 
Greeley.  Learning  that  Mr.  Greeley  had  not  yet 
arrived,  he  loitered  in  the  vicinity  until  the  great 
editor  mounted  the  stairs  to  the  editorial  sanctum  of 
the  Tribune.  He  followed  closely  behind,  and  was 
confronted  at  the  door  of  Mr.  Greeley 's  office  by  a 
savage-looking  youth  with  a  triangular  mouth  and  a 
crop  of  hair  that  stood  upon  his  head  as  if  he  had 
seen  a  ghost. 

"  What  d'ye  want?"  inquired  the  door-keeper. 
"  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Greeley." 


130  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

"  He  isn't  in." 
*  "  Oh,  yes,  he  is.     I  saw  him  come  up  the  stairs." 

"  Naw,  you  didn't.  He  isn't  in,  and  you  can't  see 
him,  which  amounts  to  the  same  thing-.  You  git!" 

This  was  the  same  youth  who  had  threatened  to 
throw  Vice-President  Wilson,  of  Massachusetts, 
down  the  stairway  of  the  Tribune ;  but  Dillon  was 
unconscious  of  his  combative  character,  and  so  he 
persisted. 

"  Will  you  git  ?  "  queried  the  human  mastiff. 

"  I  want  to  get  into  Mr.  Greeley's  office,"  said  the 
preenhorn. 

The  door-keeper  reached  his  right  hand  for  the 
collar  of  the  intruder,  and  jerked  him  in  the  direction 
of  the  stairway.  The  greenhorn  reached  his  left 
hand  for  the  throat  of  the  door-keeper,  and  hurled 
him  against  the  office  door.  Mr.  Greeley  stepped 
out  into  the  hall-way  ;  and  as  a  pair  of  menagerie 
animals  are  awed  into  submission  by  the  presence  of 
the  keeper,  at  sight  of  the  editor  the  combatants 
stood  apart. 

The  remarks  made  by  Mr.  Greeley  would  not  bear 
publication.  When  the  rage  of  the  great  man  had 
expended  itself,  he  demanded  : 

4 'What  is  it?  be  brief — what  do  you  want?" 

"  I  am  a  young  man  lately  landed  from  Ireland, 
and  want  to  be  an  editor." 

Mr.  Greeley's  face  presented  the  appearance  of  a 
Frenchman's  countenance  when  he  has  smelled  some 
thing  disagreeable.  He  hurriedly  thrust  his  fingers 
into'his  vest  pocket,  extracted  a  two-dollar  bill,  handed 
it  to  the  aspirant  for  editorial  honors,  and  with  a  tone 
which  was  never  forgotten  by  the  party  addressed, 
said  :  "  Here  is  a  two-dollar  note,  young  man  ;  buy 
a  shovel." 

"But  a  word,  Mr.  Greeley.  I  want  to  tell  you 
my  scheme  as  to  'Greater  Ireland."1 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  131 

if  Not  a  word,"  said  Mr.  Greeley,  as  he  slammed 
the  door  and  locked  it  on  the  inside. 

The  ferocious  door-keeper  posted  a  chair  in  another 
room  overlooking-  the  hall-way,  looked  over  the 
transom  light  as  Andy  descended  the  stairway,  and 
shouted  after  him  triumphantly :  "  You  git,  greeny! 
you  git  1 " 

He  turned  from  the  Tribune  building  to  the  office 
of  the  Irish- American.  Mr.  Meehan  received  him 
kindly  and  courteously  ;  and  while  he  unfolded  his 
scheme  as  to  Erin  Mor,  the  calculating  editor  re 
garded  him  with  mingled  feelings  of  doubt,  curiosity 
and  pity— doubted  his  sanity,  enjoyed  his  simplicity, 
and  pitied  his  foolishness. 

"  Mr.  Meehan,"  ne  said,  "I  am  a  day-dreamer. 
In  fancy  I  have  turned  my  eyes  a  thousand  times  to 
the  American  side  of  the  Atlantic  ;  and  as  I  thought 
of  Little  Ireland  bleeding  to  death,  I  thought  of  a 
Greater  Ireland  in  America,  I  am  a  trifle  disap 
pointed  at  appearances,  but  I  am  hopeful  of  the 
future.  Knowledge  is  a  wondrous  power,  and  I  am 
turning  my  eyes  to  the  good  time  coming,  when  our 
race — more  numerous,  more  enlightened  and  more 
prosperous — will  harmonize  with  the  American  people 
in  building  up  a  great  nation  in  America,  wise  enough, 
strong  enough  and  sufficiently  respected  to  hinder 
England  from  placing  an  unfriendly  hand  on  Ire 
land." 

Mr,  Meehan  laughed.  "Well,  well,  Mr.  Dillon, 
that's  a  most  delightful  dream.  But  why  should  you 
come  to  me  with  your  scheme,  Mr.  Dillon  ?" 

"  Because,  sir,  I  knew  you  to  be  an  Irishman,  and 
suspected  you  of  patriotism." 

"  Very  good,  young  man  ;  thank  you  for  your 
esteem.  But,  while  I  am  an  Irishman,  and,  if  you 
p1ease,  a  patriot,  I  am  also  a  Democrat — the  editor 
of  a  Democratic  paper  in  New  York  City.  Our 


132  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

countrymen,  especially  those  who  came  in  famine 
times,  are  Democrats — natural  Democrats,  sir;  and — 
and — and — well,  in  short,  Mr.  Dillon,  what  d'ye  take 
me  for  ?"  and  the  veteran  patriot  rose  and,  after  the 
manner  of  princes,  diplomats  and  busy  men,  re 
treated  slowly  a  step  or  two,  as  a  signal  for  the  de 
parture  of  his  visitor ;  and  the  visitor  took  his  leave; 
and  as  he  slowly  and  sadly  walked  up  Park  Row  he 
remembered  the  command  of  God  to  Adam  ;  para 
phrased  the  language  of  Horace  Greeley,  "  Buy  a 
shovel,  young  man,  buy  a  shovel  ;"  and  he  realized 
that  dreams  are  dreams,  and  it  seemed  as  if  his  de 
lightful  picture  of  Erin  Mory  in  a  gildtd  frame  with 
purest  glass,  had  fallen  on  the  rude  stones  of  New 
York  City. 

Next  morning,  thanks  to  the  influence  of  Alder 
man  Burns,  he  found  himself  standing  twenty  feet 
below  the  level  of  the  street,  with  a  shovel  in  his 
fist,  digging  a  sewer-trench  in  Third  avenue. 

With  his  first  sixty  days'  savings  he  bought  a  pas 
sage  ticket  for  Nancy  Me  Hugh,  and  in  due  time  he 
heard  the  joyful  news  that  the  Britannia  had  ar 
rived,  was  anchored  in  the  harbor,  and  would  land 
her  passengers  on  the  following  morning. 

He  was  at  Castle  Garden  before  its  doors  were 
opened,  and  by  eight  o'clock,  in  response  to  the  call 
of  her  name,  his  heart  went  bounding  at  the  cheer 
ful  answer  of  Nancy.  In  a  moment  they  were  in 
each  other's  arms,  and  had  exchanged  every  loving 
salutation  in  the  Irish  vocabulary. 

A  thousand  inquiries  were  made  and  answered  in 
relation  to  old  friends,  and  a  thousand  tales  unfolded 
as  to  the  dances  and  the  wakes,  the  patterns  and 
the  fairs,  the  hurlin's,  the  marriages  and  match 
makings. 

"  As  to  old  Ireland  itself,"  said  Andy,  "there  is  no 
hope  for  her,  while  there  is  a  British  gun-boat  on 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  133 

the  Irish  coast,  or  an  English  flag  on  Dublin  Castle." 
Andy  proposed  an  immediate  marriage,  but  to  this 
proposition  the  cailin  demurred.  She  was  the  oldest 
of  her  mother's  family.  There  were  three  other  chil 
dren,  and  she  would  never  get  married,  she  said, 
until  she  had  paid  the  passages,  or  otherwise  relieved 
the  helpless  ones  at  home.  Nancy  had  a  brave  heart, 
but  her  form  was  frail.  She  was  a  pure  Celt,  with 
coal-black  hair,  a  sweet  hazel  eye,  with  lips  like  little 
rose  buds,  and  Andy,  in  poetic  terms,  often  compared 
her  neck  and  brow,  as  contrasted  with  her  raven 
hair,  to  a  snow  drift  underneath  a  bank  of  coal  ;  and 
"  her  soul,"  he  said,  "  was  pure  as  the  waters  of  the 
blessed  spring  at  Tub ber- Patrick" 

She  was  faithful  to  her  purpose.  She  was  soon 
receiving  a  dollar  a  day— four  shillings  she  always 
reckoned  it.  She  "  batched  "  with  a  fellow- working- 
girl,  and,  by  self-denial  and  close  economy,  was 
enabled  to  save  something  like  three  dollars  a  week, 
which  she  regularly  deposited  in  the  local  savings 
bank. 

Andy  labored  earnestly  at  his  own  task.  Very 
often  at  night,  at  the  close  of  the  Fenian  circle  meet 
ings,  the  "  brothers "  would  invite  him  to  the  bar 
room  on  the  ground  floor  of  "  Military  Hall,"  where 
the  meetings  were  held,  but  he  steadily  declined.  He 
saved  his  dollars,  and  every  delve  of  his  pick,  every 
upward  turn  of  his  shovel  received  an  impetus  from 
the  blessed  hope  that  he  would  soon  be  able  to  make 
a  home  for  the  prospective  Mrs.  Dillon. 

The  moral  dry-rot  had  already  taken  possession 
of  Fenianism.  It  was  a  losing  cause,  to  which  the 
faithful  and  devoted  still  ardently  clung  ;  but  its  petty 
leadership  had  become  a  regular  profession  for  what 
it  might  be  worth.  Every  circle  had  its  unofficial 
commissary,  and  when  the  meeting  terminated  in  the 
hall  above,  the  circle  usually  descended  in  a  body  to 


134-  ERIN  MOE:    THE   STORY  OF 

the  bar  below.  There  the  political  captains  turned 
aside  from  their  pretensions  to  Irish  patriotism,  and 
discussed  the  glories  of  Democracy  and  the  shining" 
virtues  of  alderman  so-and-so,  or  senator  this  and 
that. 

The  merits  of  O'Sullivan  for  alderman  usurped  the 
place  of  Ireland's  hope  for  liberty.  A  vast  majority 
of  the  members  were  men  of  good  character,  and 
labored  for  a  living  ;  but  there  were  some  few  who 
fed  upon  various  forms  of  human  misfortune,  and 
who  scoffed  at  all  forms  of  religion.  All  this  was 
sullenly  tolerated  by  the  majority,  for  "conscience 
sake "  and  in  the  interest  of  fraternity  ;  but  there 
was  one  unpardonable  crime — the  crime  of  "Black 
Republicanism/'  For  this  there  was  no  toleration. 
Not  one  Irishman  in  a  hundred  would  dare  to  avow 
a  Republican  sentiment. 

There  was  Patsy  Bradley,  of  the  Wolf  Tone  Circle, 
a  very  giant  in  stature,  who  had  seen  four  long  years 
service  in  the  army,  who  had  his  lower  jaw  torn  out 
in  front  of  Fredericksburg,  who  time  after  time  had 
borne  a  part  in  forlorn  hopes,  and  went  with  a  cheer 
up  to  the  very  muzzles  of  artillery  ;  but  in  Captain 
O'Grady's  bar-room  he  did  not  have  the  moral 
courage  to  say  that  his  soul  was  his  own,  nor  would 
he  dare  to  avow  his  sympathy  with  the  Republican 
party.  He  would  secretly  vote  the  Republican  ticket ; 
and  when  Colonel  Denny  Burke  endeavored  to  have 
him  proclaim  his  political  sentiments,  he  would  beg 
his  old  comrade  to  spare  him  the  consequent  torture. 

"  I'm  all  right  for  the  ticket  and  the  party,  Colonel,'' 
he  would  say;  "but  for  the  love  of  God,  don't  put 
the  boys  on  to  me." 

Captain  O'Grady  was  especially  severe  on  Dillon. 
He  suspected  him  of  sentiments  inharmonious  with 
the  workings  of  Democracy.  He  had  actually  heard 
the  greenhorn  declare  that  "  in  the  sight  of  God  the 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  135 

color  of  a  man's  face  made  no  difference."  In 
debating  with  Captain  O'Grady,  who  was  a  devout 
Christian,  Dillon  was  heard  to  say  that  "  before  God's 
altar,  in  receiving  the  Blessed  Sacrament,  in  the  pews 
of  the  church,  there  is  no  distinction  as  to  color. 
And  what'll  you  do,  Captain,  when  you  go  to  heaven  ? 
There  you'll  have  to  associate  with  the  souls  of 
negroes — aye,  even  with  the  souls  of  African  saints 
and  martyrs." 

And  the  captain  would  end  the  controversy  by 
arrguing  that  God,  in  his  omnipotence,  would  color 
the  nigger  white  before  he  admitted  him  into  the 
society  of  gentlemen  in  heaven. 

These  incidents  went  far  to  shake  the  Democratic 
faith  of  Dillon ;  yet  he  would  not  be  tempted  by  any 
earthly  consideration  to  express  the  slightest  doubt 
as  to  the  everlasting  rectitude  of  Democracy,  and  he 
would  rather  suffer  the  loss  of  an  eye  or  an  arm  than 
have  some  heeler  put  upon  his  track  to  denounce 
him  as  a  turn-coat. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

IRISH  INCONSISTENCY. 

f>N  Fenian  times  England  once  again  asserted 
her  ancient  doctrine  of  "Once  a  citizen,  al 
ways  a  citizen."  John  Warren,  Thomas 
Francis  Burke,  Edward  O'Meagher  Con 
don  and  other  American  citizens,  ex-officers 
of  the  Union  army,  had  been  tried  in  England  and 
Ireland  for  treason-felony,  and  many  of  them  were 
convicted  for  acts  done  and  words  spoken  on  Amer 
ican  soil.  James  G.  Blaine,  a  member  of  Congress 


136  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

from  the  State  of  Maine,  resented  this  doctrine  upon 
the  floor  of  the  House,  and  excited  among  his  fellow 
members  a  determination  to  insist  upon  the  doctrine 
that  naturalized  citizens  of  the  United  States  were 
entitled  to  the  same  privileges  and  protection  as  na 
tive  citizens.  He  contended  and  insisted  that  no 
American,  native  or  naturalized,  might  be  convicted 
in  a  British  court  for  acts  done  or  words  spoken  on 
American  soil.  His  efforts  led  to  the  immediate  re 
lease  of  Coscello,  and  ultimately  to  an  international 
understanding,  by  which  England  abandoned  the 
doctrine  of  perpetual  allegiance,  and  which  guaran 
teed  to  adopted  citizens  the  same  privileges  accorded 
to  native  citizens  abroad,  and  w,orked  the  release  of 
many  of  the  convicted  American  Fenians.  Thad- 
deus  Stevens,  of  Pennsylvania,  was  chairman  of  the 
Committee  on  Foreign  Relations  of  the  House  of 
Representatives.  A  committee  of  Fenians  was  ap 
pointed  to  wait  on  the  Foreign  Relations  Committee, 
to  urge  the  action  of  the  American  government  for 
the  release  of  certain  American  citizens  then  in  Eng 
lish  prisons.  The  leader  of  this  Fenian  delegation 
was  John  F.  Scanlan,  of  Illinois,  a  member  of  an 
Irish  family  distinguished  for  its  devotion  to  liberty 
in  Ireland  and  America.  He  was  then  a  young  man, 
full  of  enthusiasm,  and  very  thoroughly  informed  as 
to  the  history  .of  his  native  and  adopted  countries. 
Of  the  whole  Fenian  delegation  of  ten,  he  was  the 
only  man  who  called  himself  a  Republican.  He  en 
tertained  a  highly  enlightened  love  for  America,  and 
a  commensurate  hatred  of  England.  He  knew  that, 
from  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill  to  the  surrender  of 
Appomattox,  the  sympathies  of  England  had  been 
against  America.  He  kept  thoroughly  informed  on 
the  secret  efforts  of  the  English  on  behalf  of  the 
Confederacy  in  an  effort  to  destroy  the  Union,  and 
when  he  essayed  to  address  the  distinguished  com- 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  137 

mittee  of  Congress,  his  words  were  listened  to  with 
respectful  consideration.  If  the  Fenian  delegation 
had  been  wise,  it  would  have  rested  its  case  when 
this  man  had  spoken  ;  but  it  was  not 'wise.  A  num 
ber  of  New  York  City  men,  including  Andy  Dillon, 
were  " loaded"  for  the  occasion,  and  several  eloquent 
speeches  were  discharged  into  the  minds  of  the  Con 
gressional  committee.  The  speakers  dilated  on  the 
services  of  Irishmen  in  the  Union  army.  They  rung 
the  changes  on  "  freedom,  liberty  and  patriotism." 

Thaddeus  Stevens  was  evidently  very  restless. 
He  was  a  man  who  abhorred  false  pretenses.  He 
had  devoted  many,  years  to  the  cause  of  liberty  and 
union.  A  man  of  iron  will,  of  violent  temper,  of 
controlling  mind,  he  swayed,  in  his  day,  the  Repub 
lican  majority  in  Congress,  and  moulded  much  of 
national  legislation  during  the  war  and  reconstruc 
tion  periods.  He  was  evidently  irritated  by  the 
Irish  delegation,  but  he  bore  with  them  patiently 
until  the  close  of  the  speeches.  He  was  disabled 
in  his  legs,  and  rose  to  a  standing  position  with 
pain  and  difficulty. 

"  You  are  all  great  friends  of  liberty,  are  you  ?" 
said  he. 

"  We  are,  indeed,  sir  ;  we  are." 

"  You  are  all  patriots — all  devoted  to  the  cause  of 
human  liberty  in  America,  are  you  ?" 

"  We  are  !"     "  We  are  !"     "  We  are  !" 

Then  Thaddeus  clenched  his  teeth  and  his  fists, 
and  looked  at  them  bitterly  and  scornfully. 

"  I  hate  you  !"  said  he.  (i  Confound  you,  I  hate 
you !  You  are  always  deafening  the  ears  of  man 
kind  with  your  whine  for  liberty — for  Irishmen  only  ; 
but  you  are  forever  ready  to  jump  on  the  bodies  of 
every  other  human  being  battling  for  liberty.  You 
are  always  snarling  at  England,  but  you  are  ever 
ready  with  your  ballots  to  do  her  work  in  America, 


138  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

to  the  detriment  of  this  Nation  and  its  people.  You 
land  upon  our  shores,  and  find  employment  in  our 
factories,  and  you  then  join  the  English  interest  in 
America,  to  vote  for  the  destruction  of  the  factories. 
You  have  persistently  voted  against  the  Republican 
party,  and  you  are  now  voting  against  the  liberties 
of  four  millions  of  black  men  who  never  did  you  any 
wrong.  I  hate  you,  confound  you !  I  hate  you ! 
But  your  countrymen  now  confined  in  the  prison- 
pens  of  England  are  American  citizens,  among  them 
gallant  fellows  who  risked  their  lives  in  defense  of 
the  government,  and  the  Republican  party  will  pro 
tect  them.  But  I  hate  you,  confound  you;  I  hate  you!" 

The  hot  blush  of  shame  mantled  the  face  of  every 
Irishman  present.  If  the  question  of  negro  suffrage 
had  been  submitted  to  them  before  Mr.  Stevens  had 
spoken,  nine  to  one  would  have  voted  against  it.  If 
the  question  were  then  and  there  submitted,  they 
would  have  voted  unanimously  for  enfranchisement. 
*They  had  heard  the  truth  for  once.  Some  of  them 
had  never  in  their  lives  before  listened  to  the  voice 
of  a  representative  American.  They  regarded  it  as 
high  treason  to  hear  a  Republican  speech  or  read  a 
Republican  newspaper.  As  they  descended  the  steps 
of  the  Capitol  building,  the  Illinois  man  gave  a 
hearty  laugh.  He  had  often  deplored  the  inconsist 
ency  of  Irishmen  in  American  politics,  but  neither 
he  nor  any  of  his  brother  delegates  had  ever  heard 
that  inconsistency  so  powerfully  presented. 

"  Here  you  are,"  he  said,  "  moping  like  bats  and 
owls  to  shun  the  light  of  day,  when  this  magnificent 
American  draws  the  curtain  of  your  hiding-place 
and  exposes  you  to  the  full  glare  of  God's  sunlight. 
You  remind  me  of  ostriches,  which,  when  hotly  pur 
sued,  bury  their  heads  in  the  sand,  and  supposing 
themselves  hidden  because  they  have  blinded  them 
selves,  expose  their  hind  parts  to  the  weapons  of 
their  pursuers." 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  139 

They  saw  the  force  of  the  argument  ;  and  though 
some  of  them  did  not  for  years  muster  courage  to 
vote  according  to  their  judgment  and  their  con 
science,  in  the  year  1884  every  man  of  the  nine  save 
two,  who  were  then  dead,  was  a  conspicuous  fighting 
advocate  of  Elaine  for  President,  and  for  protection 
to  American  industry. 

"  Young  man,  what  do  you  think?"  said  the 
Illinoisan  to  Dillon. 

"  I  dunno  what  to  think,"  said  Dillon.  "  Of 
course,  I  am  a  Democrat — never  voted  anything  but 
a  Democratic  ticket- — but  on  principle  I  agree  with 
the  Republicans.  If  I  was  not  a  Democrat  I  would 
be  a  Republican;  but,  being  an  Irishman,  you  see,  I 

must  be  a  Democrat,  though  God  knows   I   cannot 

. 
agree  on  principle  with  my  party." 

"  For  shame!"  responded  the  citizen  of  Illinois. 
"  If  you  were  some  ignorant  creature,  who  never 
saw  the  inside  of  a  school-house  ;  if  you  were  some 
broken-down  wretch,  whose  soul  was  in  the  keeping 
of  some  little  ward  politician  ;  if  you  received  your 
morning  drink  for  sweeping  out  some  bar-room,  I 
could  pity  and  excuse  you  ;  but  you,  a  man,  created, 
as  you  believe,  in  the  likeness  of  God — you,  who 
have  worked  and  prayed  and  run  the  career  of  an 
outlaw  for  Ireland's  liberty — for  you  and  such  as 
you  I  have  no  mercy.  You  are  moral  cowards,  who 
deserve  and  receive  the  contempt  of  the  American 
people." 

''Well,"  replied  Dillon,  "I  cannot  dispute  what 
you  say.  The  Republicans  have  the  right  of  it ;  but 
bein',  as  I  am,  a  Democrat,  I  must  be  a  Democrat. 
If  it  were  known  that  I  was  to  vote  in  accordance 
with  the  opinions  that  I  entertain,  the  boys  would 
make  life  unbearable  for  me.  I'm  a  Democrat,  of 
course,  and  so  being,  I  must  be  a  Democrat  ;  but, 
between  ourselves,  the  next  time  I  vote  I'll  think 


140  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

about  it.  But,  for  God's  sake,  sir,  don't  say  that  I 
told  you  so.  I  couldn't  live  in  the  ward  nor  hold 
my  job  if  I  was  anything  but  a  Democrat." 

'Thad.  Stevens'  creed  is  good  Fenian  doctrine, 
isn't  it?"  said  Scanlan. 

"  I  can't  deny  that,"  said  Dillon. 
'Then,"  responded  his  friend,  "don't  be  a  bat  or 
an  owl.  ^  The  doctrine  of  liberty  is  universal  in  its 
application,  and  there  is  little  consistency  in  claiming 
liberty  for  Irishmen,  while  denying  it  to  any  other 
race  of  men  ;  and  there  is  just  as  little  consistency  in 
taking  an  oath  to  fight  England,  and  on  your  arrival 
in  this  country  casting  your  ballot  to  advance  her 
interests — her  commercial  interests,  I  mean.  But 
here  we  are  at  the  depot." 

"  I'll  think  about  it,"  said  Dillon. 

And  he  did  think  about  it.  Neither  prejudice  nor 
sophistry,  nor  moral  cowardice,  could  ever  cancel  the 
truth  of  Thad.  Stevens'  argument  on  Irish  incon 
sistency. 

It  was  thus  that  Irishmen  became  Republicans — 
shamed  into  a  sense  and  confession  of  their  incon 
sistency  by  the  burning  words  and  heroic  deeds  of 
libcr/'y-loving  Americans.  The  change  has  been 
painfully  slow.  But  it  is  only  the  courageous  man 
who  honestly  changes  sides  in  politics  ;  and  no 
man  fully  realizes  the  strength  of  political  ties  until 
he  has  broken  them. 


CHAPTER    XXIV.  ; 

PETTY  POLITICAL  REVENGE. 

ILLON  reported  to  the  Fenian  circle  the 
result  of  the  trip  to  Washington ;  re 
peated  substantially  the  remarks  of  Thad- 
deus  Stevens,  and  offered  a  resolution  of 
thanks  to  the  Republican  leader.  A 
growl  of  dissent  rose  in  chorus  from  the  circle. 
"  To  the  devil  wid  Thad.  Stevens  !  " 
Haifa  dozen  members  rose  at  once  to  speak,  and 
loud  and  bitter  were  the  denunciations  poured  out 
upon  the  action  and  the  motives  of  Dillon.  From 
'that  moment  his  influence  in  the  circle  was  gone,  and 
his  brother  members  denounced  him  as  a  "  turn-coat 
and  a  traitor,"  an  enemy  of  their  blessed  religion, 
a  receiver  of  Republican  "goold."  If  he  had  en 
tered  a  church,  and  dashed  a  chalice  from  the  hands 
of  an  officiating  priest,  his  sin  would  be  more  readily 
forgiven.  He  might  have  taken  a  club  and  smashed 
a  picture  of  the  crucifixion,  and  be  excused  by  some 
of  the  members  ;  but  in  speaking  in  favor  of  the  Re 
publican  party,  he  had  made  himself  an  Ishmaelite. 
His  resolution  was  voted  down,  and  hissed  down 
unanimously.  By  an  unwritten  law  of  the  Fenian 
brotherhood,  American  politics  were  excluded  from 
discussion  at  their  meetings,  and  so  a  fitting  expres 
sion  of  their  feelings  on  the  subject  was  reserved 
until  they  had  informally  re-assembled  in  the  back 
room  of  Captain  O'Grady.  There  Dillon  was  vigor 
ously  denounced.  They  would  listen  to  no  defence, 
explanation  or  apology.  Next  morning  he  was  dis 
charged  from  his  employment  in  the  sewer  trenches. 
"Sorry  for  you,"  said  the  foreman;  "but  no  one 
suspected  of  using  a  pencil  on  the  Democratic  ticket 
can  hould  a  job  upon  the  public  works  of  New  York." 


142  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

In  the  private  office  of  Isaac  Marx,  near  Chatham 
Square,  three  men  were  engaged  conversing  in  under 
tones  on  the  evening  of  Dillon's  discharge.  Fre 
quent  mention  was  made  of  Andy's  name.  The 
trinity  consisted  of  Isaac  Marx,  Alderman  Burns, 
and  Mr.  Barney  Devoy,  of  New  Limerick.  The 
subject  of  the  conference  was  to  devise  ways  and 
means  to  injure  or  disgrace  Dillon.  Alderman  Burns 
was  at  first  unwilling  to  lend  himself  to  the  scheme. 
He  could  not,  he  said,  willingly  injure  the  friend  of 
his  youth,  a  young  man  who,  aside  from  his  sin 
against  the  Democratic  party,  was  a  very  worthy  fellow, 
industrious,  honest,  and  a  good  Irishman. 

"  He's  no  Irishman,"  said  Devoy.  "  Any  man  who 
has  love  or  likin'  for  the  Republican  party  is  no 
Irishman.  He's  a  turn-coat,  a  back-slider  and  a 
thraithor,  and  he  ought  to  be  run  out  o'  town." 

"Right,  minefreund"  said  Mr.  Isaac  Marx;  and 
turning  to  Alderman  Burns,  he  added  :  "  Pisness  is 
pisness,  mine  dear  Alderman.  You  lof  yourfreund, 
but  you  better  lof  the  Democratish  barty.  Your 
freund  Dillon  ish  no  goot.  You  need  not  do  the 
vork  yourself.  You  leaf  him  to  me — I  fix  him." 

The  alderman  felt  as  if  his  heart  turned  upside 
down.  He  hated  to  injure  and  betray  the  friend  of 
his  youth  ;  but  he  was  a  Democrat — his  first  duty 
was  to  the  party.  That  duty  was  very  simple.  He 
was  commanded  to  induce  Dillon  to  take  a  few 
drinks,  and  then  lead  him  down  to  Mr.  Marx's  estab 
lishment.  This  task  he  quickly  accomplished.  He 
met  the  victim  at  his  own  place  of  business,  took 
him  into  the  private  office,  and  gave  him  honied 
words  and  loving  sentiments  ;  and  to  water  the  tree 
of  memory,  saturated  him  with  several  drinks  of 
whisky.  He  then  led  him  to  Mr.  Marx's  saloon  and 
turned  him  over  to  the  tender  mercies  of  Isaac  and 
Barney. 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  143 

"  Ah,  mine  dear  freund,  I  vas  so  very  glad  to  meet 
you — so  very  glad,"  said  Mr.  Marx;  and  Barney 
talked  Irish  with  him;  sang  "Acushla  gal  macree" 
for  him  ;  and  by  request,  Dillon  favored  his  new 
friends  with  an  old  Irish  air :  "  Let  Erin  Remember 
the  Days  of  Old  ; "  and  the  whisky  flowed,  and  the 
two  new  friends  wouldn't  permit  him  to  spend  a  cent. 
And  they  drank  and  sang  and  smoked  until  after 
midnight ;  and  they  laid  him  out  upon  a  sofa,  and 
they  danced  attendance  upon  him.  At  daylight  in 
the  morning  other  friends  joined  the  company  in  the 
shape  of  relays  to  relieve  old  Barney  and  Isaac,  until 
on  the  second  day  Dillon  passed  through  the  several 
stages  of  royally  drunk,  gloriously  drunk  and  dead 
drunk.  Since  he  came  to  America  he  had  been  ab 
stemious,  as  a  matter  of  self-respect  and  of  economy; 
but  in  bis  younger  days  he  had  been  convivial,  and 
when  fairly  started  on  the  spree,  like  many  of  the 
bravest,  the  wisest  and  the  best  of  men,  he  did  not 
know  when  to  stop.  Many  a  time  he  feebly  resolved 
to  quit,  but  the  dear  friends  (?)  clung  to  him  and 
overthrew  his  resolutions ;  and  when  the  expert 
judgment  of  Isaac  and  Barney  pronounced  him  on 
the  verge  of  delirium  tremens,  they  carefully  searched 
his  pockets,  finding  only  a  fraction  of  a  dollar,  for  he 
had  left  his  wallet  with  more  than  two  hundred  dol 
lars  in  the  safe  of  Alderman  Burns.  They  next 
loaded  him  into  a  cab,  with  instructions  to  the  driver 
to  "dump  him  in  Central  Park." 

If  there  is  any  one  condition  more  than  another 
in  which  the  human  soul  fights  an  unequal  battle 
with  the  devil,  it  is  when  a  man  is  incompletely 
sober,  after  a  protracted  drunk.  His  reason,  his 
understanding  and  his  sense  of  duty  are  all  engaged 
in  urging  him  to  become  sober  ;  but  his  will  is  en 
feebled,  his  appetite  for  liquor  inflamed,  and  the 
power  of  body  absent,  as  well  as  the  power  of  spirit. 


144  £KIN  MOK:     THE   STORY  OF 

In  this  condition  Dillon  found  himself  at  daylight 

chilly,  spiritless,  hungry,  thirsty,  reckless.  If  he  had 
not  an  immortal  soul  and  a  hope  of  the  hereafter, 
and  a  loyal  love  for  Nancy  McHugh,  he  would  just 
as  soon  sink  his  body  in  a  river  or  walk  into  the 
crater  of  a  volcano.  He  had  reached  his  lowest 
depth  of  degradation — had  lost  his  self-respect  and 
self-esteem.  A  drowsy,  dreamy  feeling  came  over 
him.  He  tried  to  move,  but  found  it  at  first  impos 
sible.  The  earth  reeled,  the  trees  and  buildings  ap 
peared  to  be  dancing  ;  the  tall  grass  seemed  a  thing 
of  life— or  rather  ten  thousand  things  :  frogs,  snakes, 
cockroaches,  eels,  crawling  things  with  fiery  eyes, 
jumping  at  him  and  crawling  over  him.  Thus  tor-, 
tured  and  pursued,  he  dashed  away  down  one  of  the 
shaded  avenues,  and  headlong  from  a  high  stone 
arch  to  the  granite  pavement  thirty  feet  below. 

*     ^ 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  he  opened 
his  eyes  in  a  state  of  semi-consciousness.  He  was 
in  a  large  room.  There  were  beds  ranged  around 
the  walls.  Pale-faced  women,  clothed  in  plain  dark 
garments  and  great  white  linen  bonnets,  moved 
silently  among  the  inmates  of  the  beds.  One  of 
them  stood  calmly  at  the  foot  of  his  couch,  and  be 
side  him,  crucifix  in  hand,  stood  Father  O'Connell, 
a  Driest  of  the  Catholic  church.  When  he  opened 
his  eyes,  the  priest  placed  a  hand  upon  his  forehead 
and  smoothed  his  fevered  brow  ;  then  sprinkled  his 
face,  and  placed  a  glass  of  water  to  his  lips.  He 
recognized  the  priest. 

"  Where  am  I,  Father,  and  how  did  I  come  here  ?  " 

"Patience,  my  son,"  said  the  priest;  "you  are 
among  friends.  You  are  very  ill.  Keep  quiet  a 
little  while.  Be  contented,  and  feel  assured  that  you 
are  with  friends.  To-morrow  you  will  know  the  rest." 

"  Oh,  Father,  my  right  leg  is  terribly  sore,  and  I 
have  no  strength  to  move  it." 


IRIJH  REPUBLICANISM.  145 

"  True,  my  son,  your  leg-  is  in  a  bad  condition — 
very  lame.  It  is  of  the  utmost  importance  that  you 
do  not  try  to  move  it.  The  fact  is,  you  have  suffered 
an  accident.  Well,  if  you  must  know,  your  leg  is 
broken,  and  you  must  keep  perfectly  still." 

'  Then,  Father,  you  can  tell  me  where  I  am." 
"  My  son,"  said  the  priest,  "you  are  in  the  Sisters' 
Hospital.     You  came  here  early  this  morning."- 

"  Father,"  said  the  patient,  "  tell  me  all.  Why  am 
I  here,  and  how  did  I  get  here?" 

"  My  son,"  said  the  priest,  "  I  would  prefer  not  to 
talk  about  your  affairs  now  ;  but  if  you  are  sure  you 
can  bear  it,  I  will  tell  you  all." 

"Do,  please,"  said  the  wounded  man. 
"So  be  it,  then,"  said  the  priest.  "At  daylight 
this  morning  I  was  crossing-  Central  Park,  returning 
from  a  sick  call.  I  found  you  lying  on  one  of  the 
drive-ways,  apparently  lifeless.  Opening  your  shirt 
collar,  in  the  hope  of  restoring  you  to  conciousness, 
I  found  that  you  wore  a  scapular,  from  which  I  in 
ferred  that  you  were  a  Catholic,  probably  an  Irish 
man.  I  called  an  ambulance,  and  brought  you  here. 
You  are  in  the  Sisters'  Hospital,  and  these  two 
angels  of  mercy,  Sisters  Mary  Isidore  and  Mary 
Bertha,  have  nursed  you  back  to  life." 

For  weary  months  Andy  Dillon  occupied  his  cot 
in  the  Sisters'  Hospital.  During  all  this  time  these 
two  sisters,  under  whose  special  care  he  was  placed, 
were  almost  constantly  with  him.  Mary  Isidore 
was  a  tall,  aesthetic,  highly  intellectual  woman,  "wise 
as^a  serpent,  and  harmless  as  a  dove."  She  knew 
this  man  better  than  he  knew  himself.  She  knew 
his  weaknesses  and  his  sorrows,  and  his  struggles 
against  temptation,  and  yet  she  never  made  a  stncrle 
suggestion  that  would  remind  him  of  those  weak 
nesses.  Irresistibly  he  confided  to  her  his  follies 
and  his  sins,  but  instead  of  rebuking  him  and  chidino- 


10 


146  ERIN   MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

him,  she  simply  shared  in  his  contrition,  told  him  of 
the  efficacy  of  prayer,  and  reminded  him  of  the  good 
ness  and  mercy  of  God.  Mary  Bertha  was  as  pious 
as  her  elder  sister,  fully  as  divine,  but  a  trifle  more 
human.  Nature  did  it.  She  was  far  below  the 
middle  height,  but  very  strongly  built,  and  her  sweet 
little  face  exercised  the  vivifying  influence  of  a  sum 
mer  sun.  She  was  an  organized  smile.  She  did 
more  hard  manual  labor  than  any  two  sisters  in  the 
institution,  but  "  God  fitted  the  back  for  the  burthen." 
She  never  complained,  rarely  talked  religion,  but  she 
constantly  ministed  to  the  material  wants  of  the 
suffering  and  the  dying.  The  fever  patient  calling 
at  midnight  for  water,  found  little  Bertha  suddenly 
appear  at  his  bed-side,  and  the  consumptive  craving 
for  his  stimulant  at  the  dawn  of  day,  also  found  her 
standing  at  his  side. 

Two  marvelous  women,  these !  Yet  no  ;  nothing 
extraordinary.  The  world  abounds  in  sisters  just 
like  them.  You  find  them  in  the  stifling  tenement, 
among  the  paupers  of  calamity,  and  the  paupers  of 
iniquity.  You  see  them  hurriedly  moving  along  the 
forbidding  alleys  of  the  great  cities.  You  find  them 
in  the  institutions  of  charity,  bathing  the  feet  of  the 
aged,  and  eating  the  refuse  of  the  pauper's  meal. 
You  find  them  in  the  fever  hospital,  in  the  plague- 
stricken  city,  under  fire  of  artillery,  close  behind  the 
front  rank  of  the  army  in  battle,  binding  the  bleed 
ing  wounds  of  suffering  soldiers,  and  quenching  the 
burning  thirst  of  dying  men.  You  would  probably 
find  them  in  purgatory,  ministering  to  the  tempo 
rarily  condemned  ;  and  so  surely  as  there  is  a  God 
and  an  eternity,  they  will  be  found  in  heaven  rejoicing 
with  those  whose  dying  eyes  they  closed,  while  they 
whispered  the  blessed  consolation  of  immortality. 

The  two  sisters  knew  that  whisky  had  been  the 
immediate  cause  of  Dillon's  misfortune. 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  147 

Mary  Isidore  would  frequently  say  :  "  If  it  were 
not  for  the  curse  of  liquor,  I  could  conceive  no  such 
thing  as^a  hell  for  the  Irish.  I  have  seen  men  and 
women,"  she  continued,  "who  had  qualities  to  equip 
them  for  sainthood  or  martyrdom,  converted  into 
human  fiends  and  hideous  haes  by  the  demon  of 
alcohol." 

"There  is  no  half-way  house,"  little  Bertha  would 
say.  ^  (  The  proximate  occasion  of  sin  is  sin.  Where 
one  is  liable  to  intoxication  the  sin  is  in  the  first 
glass.  Repentance  is  precious,  but  it  is  much  better 
not  to  sin."  She  would  ask  him  to  contemplate  the 
blessed  thirst  of  the  Redeemer,  and  resolve  to  drink 
no  more  intoxicants. 

The  pious  teachings  were  effective.  He  took  the 
total  abstinence  pledge  before  he  left  the  hospital, 
and  went  out  into  the  world  a  sober  man. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  BELFAST  OF  AMERICA. 

URING  his  stay  at  the  hospital,  Dillon 
had  become  the  intimate  friend  and  con 
fidant  of  Dr.  Patrick  Barry,  the  surgeon 
who  attended  him.  It  was  his  good  for 
tune,  also,  to  secure  the  friendship  of 
Dr.  William  McNevin,  an  Irish  Methodist  preacher 
from  the  State  of  Ohio,  who,  on  his  return  from 
Ireland,  had  visited  the  hospital.  It  was  in  the  early 
days  of  September,  about  eleven  o'clock  in  the  fore 
noon,  that  these  two  friends  left  the  Sisters'  Hos 
pital.  They  walked  down  Broadway  and  into  Fifth 
avenue  at  Madison  Square, 


148  ERIN   MOB:     THE   STOBY   OF 

"  Curious/'  said  the  Western  preacher;  "all  your 
principal  hotels  have  English  names." 

"No,  not  all  of  them,"  said  Dr.  Barry,  "but 
enough  of  them.  We  have,  as  you  see,  the  Buck 
ingham,  the  Maryborough  and  the  Victoria,  but  no 
Washington  Hotel,  no  Jackson  Hotel  and  no  Grant 
Hotel.  These  things  are  in  demand.  The  names 
are  attractive  cards  for  foreign  tourists,  and  our  own 
gilded  youth  and  shoddy  aristocracy  delight  in  the 
association  of  the  distinguished  or  pretentious  for 


eigners. 

o 


Several  beefy-looking  young  gentlemen  were  ob 
served  riding  up  the  avenue  on  horseback,  the  tails 
of  the  horses  trimmed,  and  each  rider  armed  with  a 
whip-stock  without  a  lash. 

"  These,"  said  the  preacher,  "  I  suppose,  are  dis 
tinguished  Englishmen  ?" 

"No,  indeed,"  replied  the  doctor.  "They  are 
commonplace  Americans,  aping,  to  the  best  of  their 
ability,  the  manners  and  habits  of  the  British  aris 
tocracy  ;  and  the  most  pronouncedly  British-looking 
man  among  them  is  the  over-fed,  beefy-looking 
fellow,  who  is  the  son  of  an  Irish  contractor." 

Their  attention  was  attracted  by  the  elaborate  dis 
play  of  elegant  "  gents'  furnishing  goods  "  in  one  of 
the  store  windows  on  Madison  Square.  Beside  the 
window  was  a  gilded  sign  bearing  this  legend :  "  No 
goods  sold  here  but  imported  goods." 

u  Well,  well !"  said  the  preacher.  "  If  any  man 
out  west  had  told  me  of  an  establishment  in  an 
American  city  bearing  such  a  sign  as  that,  I  would 
not  have  believed  him." 

Animated  by  feelings  of  mingled  anger  and  dis 
gust,  the  pair  crossed  the  avenue  and  promenaded 
the  walks  under  the  generous  shade  of  the  trees  in 
Madison  Square.  Their  minds  were  temporarily  di 
verted  by  the  noisy  twitter  of  numerous  little  birds. 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  149 

A  number  of  them  were  engaged  in  an  effort  to  kill 
another  little  bird,  of  a  different  species  and  of  some 
what  highly  colored  plumage. 

"What  birds  are  these?'  inquired  the  preacher. 

"These,"  said  Dr.  Barry,  "are  English  sparrows, 
engaged  at  their  congenial  task  of  killing  off  some 
little  domestic  bird.  How  typical  of  the  spirit  of 
the  British  nation !  They  were  imported  here  as 
friends,  for  the  purpose  of  aiding  the  farmers  to  de 
stroy  bugs,,  worms,  insects  and  other  pests  af  agri 
culture  ;  but  they  have  abandoned  their  mission, 
taken  to  our  centers  of  population,  where  food  is 
plenty,  and  in  securing  their  plunder  they  kill  every 
living  thing  weaker  than  themselves  in  the  land  to 
which  they  have  come,  that  in  any  way  interferes 
with  the  gratification  of  their  appetites.  I  under 
stand  that  the  man  who  first  imported  them  is  now 
'doing  time'  in  a  Pennsylvania  penitentiary;  and 
whatever  the  guilt  or  innocence  of  the  man  of  the 
crime  for  which  he  was  convicted,  if  he  imported  the 
English  sparrow  'willfully  and  with  malice  afore 
thought,'  he  ought  to  be  in  the  penitentiary." 

"  They  have  not  yet  reached  the  West,"  said  the 
preacher,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  No,"  replied  Dr.  Barry  ;  "  but  they  will  get  there 
some  day.  You  will  have  the  British  free-trader  and 
the  English  sparrow  out  west  pretty  soon,  and  it 
will  require  your  forbearance,  courage,  caution,  in 
dustry  and  patriotism  to  head  them  off  and  circum 
vent  them." 

Turning  out  of  Madison  Square,  the  two  gentle 
men  walked  down  Broadway  to  Union  Square,  a 
little  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 

"Here,"  said  Dr.  Barry,  "step  into  this  open 
carriage.  Let  us  ride  a  couple  of  miles.  Let  me 
show  you  the  Belfast  of  America." 

"  The  Belfast  of  America  ?"  said  the  preacher.    "  I 


150  EEIN  MOK:    THE   STQKY  OF 

would  prefer  to  call  it  the  Dublin  of  America.  It  was 
in  turn  the  New  Amsterdam  of  the  Dutch  and  the 
New  York  of  the  British.  With  its  Irish  population, 
it  ought  now  to  be  called  New  Dublin." 

"  No,"  said  Barry  ;  "  I  insist  on  Belfast,  and  in 
so  calling  it  I  mean  no  unkindness  to  the  hustling 
city  of  Northern  Ireland.  New  York,  like  Belfast, 
is  a  great  city — only,  of  course,  immensely  greater 
than  Belfast.  It  is  great  in  commerce,  great  in  man 
ufactures,  great  in  its  newspapers,  finances,  charitable 
institutions  and  churches.  It  is  a  splendid  place  to 
live,  if  one  is  rich  and  has  the  means  to  select  his 
locality.  But  its  commercial,  financial  and  political 
life  is  not  merely  un-American — it  is  anti-American. 
Look  at  the  signs  above  the  doors  of  these  mercan 
tile  houses.  The  names  are  not  American,  and  the 
owners  are  not  American.  They  are  a  European 
colony  of  traders,  intrenched  at  the  gateway  of 
national  commerce,  and,  in  the  very  nature  and  ne 
cessity  of  their  business,  hostile  to  the  development 
of  American  manufacturing  industries.  They  are  a 
great  people,  but  they  are  not  Americans,  nor  of  the 
American  people.  This  is  your  American  Belfast, 
fattening  on  the  commerce  of  a  land  to  whose  polit 
ical  and  industrial  aspirations  it  is  bitterly  hostile." 

"  I  have  heard  numerous  reasons,"  said  the 
preacher,  "why  New  York  is  Democratic,  but  I 
never  saw  it  in  that  light  until  now." 

"Now,"  said  Dr.  Barry,  "let  me  show  you  the 
grave-yard  of  the  Irish  race.  We  will  discharge  the 
carriage  at  Chambers  street,  and  turn  to  the  left. 
Before  leaving  Broadway,  let  me  impress  one  fact 
particularly  on  your  mind.  Whenever  I  call  the 
attention  of  Irishmen  to  the  evils  that  afflict  a  portion 
of  our  people,  I  am  accused  of  *  slandering  the 
Irish.'  Almighty  God  forbid!  When  I  was  a  boy 
I  fondly  hoped  to  fight  for  Irish  independence,  and 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  151 

to  be  rewarded  by  six  feet  of  Irish  earth  for  a  grave. 
In  later  years,  in  my  humble  way,  I've  tried  to  do  a 
man's  share  for  her  in  every  way  that  opportunity 
suggested.  Even  my  enemies  know  all  this,  and 
why  should  I  slander  the  Irish?  I  know  theij:  vir 
tues  and  their  elements  of  strength  ;  and  it  wTarms 
my  heart  to  contemplate  them  and  discuss  them. 
You  see  this  mass  of  splendid  men  and  comely 
women  passing  up  and  down  Broadway.  Very  nearly 
one-half  of  these  are  our  people — Irish- Americans. 
These  men  are  the  salesmen,  porters,  laborers,  law 
yers,  editors,  telegraph  operators  of  the  city,  and  the 
women  are  engaged  in  stores  and  factories  and  offices. 
Of  these  men  and  women  we  are  all  justly  proud. 
But  there  is  another  side  of  the  picture,  and  to  this 
darker  side  I  will  call  your  attention,  and  the  atten 
tion  of  all  decent  Irishmen,  and  the  attention  of  this 
great  American  nation,  in  which  it  is  our  privilege  to 
live,  and  I  propose  to  do  this  even  at  the  expense  of 
being  accused  of  '  slandering  the  Irish.' 

"  Here  we  are  in  Chatham  Square.  Look  at  that 
sign — '  Black  eyes  and  broken  noses  repaired  and 
restored  to  natural  color  and  appearance.'  That  is 
the  sign  of  a  doctor  who  makes  a  specialty  of  re 
pairs.  Now  let  me  take  you  through  the  gate  of 
the  grave-yard — the  Democrat  factory  of  Mr.  Isaac 
Marx." 

"  Veil,  veil,  shentlemens,  this  is  an  honor.  Veil, 
veil,  Dr.  Mac — I  vorgots  the  name ;  und  mein  goot 
vreund  Dr.  Barry.  Coom  in,  shentlemens ;  vat  vill 
you  haf?" 

They  took  cigars,  and  Mr.  Marx  seemed  deeply 
grieved  that  they  would  not  have  a  little  of  his 
"  Kinihan's  Double  L"  whisky  (from  Peoria)  or  a 
bottle  of  champagne  (from  Jersey).  Mr.  Marx's 
establishment  was  indeed  a  variety  shop,  both  in  its 
stock  and  the  scope  of  its  business.  There  was  a 


152  ERIN  MOR:     THE   STORY  OF 

bar,  and  a  family  department  liquor  store.  There 
was  also  a  bucket-shop  department,  where  the  man 
of  large  appetite  and  modest  means  could  regale  him 
self  with  a  "tumbler"  of  whisky  for  a  nickel  In  ad 
dition  to  these  varied  industries,  Mr.  Marx  stood 
ready  to  buy  for  cash,  at  his  own  price,  any  watches, 
jewelry,  or  other  valuable  articles  offered  by  the  light- 
fingered  gentlemen  of  the  metropolis  ;  and  he  did 
an  extensive  business  as  bondsman  for  thieves  and 
other  criminals  in  the  courts.  He  was  also  president 
of  the  "Marx  Guard,"  a  formidable  political  organ 
ization,  composed  of  the  Democracy  of  four  blocks 
in  that  vicinity. 

It  was  as  President  Marx,  chief  of  the  "Marx 
Club,"  that  Dr.  Barry  addressed  him  ;  and  there  was 
a  visible  swell  in  his  portly  stomach  as  he  modestly 
acknowledged  the  compliment. 

"Mein  boys  are  goot  boys,"  Mr.  Marx  proudly 
remarked.  "  Ninety-seven  per  cent  of  the  vote  of 
mein  precinct  is  Democratic.  I  gif  mein  boys  a 
.picnic  at  Coney  Island  next  Soonday.  Mein  Irish 
freunds  are  mein  customers,  und  the  boys  of  mein 
club,  und  I  gif  them  und  the  ladies  of  their  families 
a  leetle  airing  Soonday." 

Mr.  Marx  was  firmly  intrenched  in  the  hearts,  the 
appetites  and  the  ruins  of  his  constituency.  He  had 
held  his  present  corner  for  fifteen  years.  In  his 
voting  precinct  there  were  one  hundred  and  fifty 
Irish  families,  mostly  exiles  of  the  great  famine  of 
1846-47.  They  were  not  fair  specimens  of  the  race. 
They  were  the  weaklings,  flung  by  adverse  fate  from 
their  island  home  into  the  wretched  tenements  of 
the  dirtiest  part  of  the  dirtiest  city  of  America,  and 
destitute  of  the  power,  the  knowledge,  or  the  ambi 
tion  to  elevate  themselves.  They  were  originally 
pious,  rash  and  irascible.  For  years  they  attended 
mass  and  their  religious  duty ;  but  as  old  age,  dis- 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  153 

ease,  drunkenness  and  their  attendant  miseries  over 
took  them,  Mr.  Marx  became  their  high  priest,  his 
establishment  their  temple,  and  his  politics  their 
study  and  their  worship.  A  vast  majority  preserved 
the  virtue  of  their  race,  but  through  the  gateway  of 
the  grave-yard—through  the  establishment  of  Mr. 
Marx — many  of  themselves  and  their  children  went 
to  the  grave,  steeped  in  those  miseries  that  rot  the 
body  and  damn  the  human  soul. 

Dr.  Barry  called  professionally  on  one  of  Mr. 
Marx's  constituents — an  old  man  named  Murphy, 
once  a  brave,  generous  and  virtuous  Irishman.  Mr. 
Marx,  on  the  recommendation  of  Alderman  Burns, 
secured  employment  for  Murphy  on  the  street-sweep 
ing  force,  where  he  held  his  place  until  the  city  gov 
ernment  of  New  York  reluctantly  yielded  to  the 
inevitable,  by  the  employment  of  sweeping  machines. 
For  years  he  had  suffered  at  times  from"  dysentery. 
Of  this  disease  Dr.  Barry  had  succeeded  in  curing 
him.  ^  Suddenly  he  sent  for  the  doctor  again.  This 
time  it  was  diphtheria.  The  family  lived  upon  the 
ground  floor  in  a  rear  building. 

"  You  have  a  cellar  under  This  floor?"  inquired  the 
doctor. 

"We  have,  Doctor,"  repied  Mrs.  Murphy.  A  lan 
tern  was  obtained,  and  the  doctor  and  the  preacher 
descended  into  the  damp,  dark,  foul-smelling-  cellar  ; 
and  in  a  corner,  directly  beneath  the  spot  where 
poor  Murphy  lay,  there  was  an  open  privy  vault, 
"  smelling  to  heaven  for  vengeance,"  as  Dr.  Barry 
expressed  it. 

'  To  heaven  for  mercy,"  said  the  preacher. 

"  No ;  to  heaven  for  vengeance,"  repeated  the 
doctor.  [<  For  vengeance  upon  the  powers  that  rule 
and  rob  and  rot  this  city — upDn  the  accursed  system 
that  neglects  the  first  and  simplest  duties  of  muni 
cipal  government ;  that  permits  the  virtuous  poor  to 


154  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

suffer  and  to  die  from  disease  engendered  in  these 
lazar-houses.  I  say  again,  '  To  heaven  for  ven 
geance.'  'It  is  mine/  saith  the  Lord;  and  these 
plague-spots  will  prove  the  avengers  of  the  poor. 
You  will  hear  of  deaths  among  the  rich — politely 
attributed  to  pneumonia,  influenza  and  heart  disease, 
but  in  truth  from  fevers  and  other  disorders  engen 
dered  in  the  homes  of  the  poor,  and  rising  like  God's 
wrath  to  the  homes  of  upper-tendom,  becoming 
God's  avengers  of  the  poor." 

Upon  his  bed,  in  a  dark,  damp  corner,  lay  poor 
Murphy,  dying  (so  Dr.  Barry  said).  No  power  on 
earth  could  save  him.  He  was  in  high  fever,  and 
delirious.  He  was  calling  for  "Johnny"  and  for 
"Norah" — his  "bouchal  bawn,  Johnny,"  and  his 
"  cushla  macree,  Norah." 

And  where  were  they  ?  Where  was  Johnny?  He 
was  on  Blackwell's  Island.  "  He  had  a  discussion 
with  a  Dutchman,"  the  mother  explained.  "  He  had 
an  iron  bar  in  his  hand  at  the  time.  It  was  down  at 
Mr.  Marx's  grocery  on  election  night — he  had  been 
celebratin'  the  victory  of  O'Reilley  for  assemblyman  ; 
and  he  raised  the  bar  above  the  head  of  the  Dutch 
man — and  the  bar  fell  over  agin'  the  head  of  the 
Dutchman,  loike."  For  a  time  it  seemed  as  if  the 
Dutchman  would  die,  but  he  finally  recovered,  and, 
through  the  influence  of  Mr.  Marx,  Johnny  got  off 
with  a  jail  sentence.  And  Norah — who  and  where 
was  she?  Norah  was  the  oldest  daughter.  She  was 
dead  ?  "  No — worse  than  dead,"  said  the  poor 
mother,  with  sobs  and  tears  and  groans,  as  she  cov 
ered  her  face  with  her  apron  and  hastily  left  the  room. 

The  party  took  their  leave — not  until  Dr.  Mc- 
Nevin  had  placed  a  gold  coin  in  the  wasted  hand  of 
the  afflicted  Mrs.  Murphy. 

Dillon,  who  had  joined  the  party  at  Chatham 
Square,  was  a  silent  spectator  at  Murphy's  residence. 
On  reaching  the  street,  he  said  to  Dr.  Barry: 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  155 

"  I  humbly  hope  that  cases  like  this  are  rare." 

"  I  grieve  and  blush  to  say  they  are  not,"  said  Dr. 
Barry.  "  This  is  a  sample  of  the  wretchedness 
among  thousands  of  New  York  City's  poor.  This 
is  the  condition  to  which  human  avarice,  operating 
through  whisky  and  politics,  has  degraded  them." 

"  And  is  this  your  Greater  Ireland — my  Erin 
Mor?"  said  Dillon. 

"  Young  man,"  said  Dr.  Barry,  passionately,  "don't 
repeat  that  question.  You  know  that  this  is  not 
Greater  Ireland.  Greater  Ireland  is  scattered  all 
over  the  world.  It  comprises  millions  of  strong, 
brave  and  virtuous  men  and  women.  It  has  passed 
through  a  long,  dark,  bitter,  bloody  night,  and  '  will 
have  an  inevitable  day.'  It  is  like  a  giant  waking 
from  a  troubled  dream,  stretching  its  limbs,  opening 
its  eyes  and  hoping  for  greater  things.  No,  my 
brother;  this  is  not  Greater  Ireland.  This  is  the 
great  American  Democrat  Factory — the  grave-yard 
of  the  Irish  race.  This  is  the  mire  into  which  the 
weak  and  the  unfortunate  have  fallen.  It  is  the 
narrow  strip  of  quicksands  across  which  Greater 
Ireland  passes  on  the  road  to  liberty  and  affluence. 
The  head  and  heart  of  Greater  Ireland  are  above 
the  sands,  and  are  making  gallant  effort  to  drag  up 
the  lower  limbs." 

The  preacher  listened  with  a  tear  in  his  eyes,  and 
he  looked  at  Dr.  Barry  and  at  Dillon.  "  This,"  he 
said,  "  is  the  bitter  fruit  of  English  rule  in  Ireland — 

o 

the  product  of  famine,  rack-renting  and  free-trade  ; 
and  this  is  the  power  that  England  now  seeks  to  use 
in  obtaining  free- trade  in  the  United  States  of  Amer 
ica,  and  controlling  the  commerce  of  this  continent. 
I  am  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  but  I  am  a  citizen  and 
a  man ;  and  I  swear  by  the  throne  of  God  that  Eng 
land  will  not  accomplish  her  ends  without  a  struggle, 
in  which  Greater  Ireland  will  bear  a  part.  What  say 
you,  Doctor?  What  say  you,  Dillon  ? 


156 


ERIN   MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 


"  I  simply  say,  amen,"  said  Dr.  Barry.  "And  I 
repeat,  amen,"  said  Dillon.  "  Until  this  hour  I  bore 
some  slight  allegiance  to  the  Democratic  party,  '  but 
now  my  soul's  my  own.'  Situated  as  I  am  now,  I 
am  of  small  account.  I  am  lame,  down-hearted  and 
penniless  ;  but  I'll  turn  up  some  day.  I'll  go  to  Cal 
ifornia  on  the  Coronado  with  Anthony  Sexton.  If 
fortune  favors,  I'll  return  and  bear  a  part  in  the  con 
test  that  confronts  America  in  her  free-trade  struggle 
with  England." 

And  the  friends  separated,  Dr.  Barry  returning  to 
his  home,  and  Dr.  McNevin  and  Dillon  to  the  Astor 
House. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

DEATH   OF  NANCY  McHUGH. 

ILLON,  on  parting  with  his  friends,  took 
the  train  for  New  Limerick  ;  but  the 
story  of  his  misfortunes  had  preceded 
him.  Mr.  Marx  and  Mr.  Devoy  had 
visited  Nancy  McHugh,  and  told  her 
all  the  details  of  Dillon's  spree,  with  several  insinua 
tions  and  evil  suggestions  added.  They  would  not 
vouch,  they  said,  for  the  horrible  story  that  he  had 
been  drugged  and  robbed  in  Central  Park,  but  such 
was  the  rumor.  Whenever  they  had  occasion  to  re 
inforce  the  bitter  truth  with  lies,  they  were  "  so 
sorry,"  and  "  it  was  too  bad,"  and  they  themselves 
didn't  know,  but  "somebody  had  said  so." 

These  worthies  did  not  intend  to  commit  the  par 
ticular  crime  which  they  were  then  perpetrating. 
Murder  was  no  part  of  the  programme.  They  only 
intended  moral  assassination — to  destroy  the  character 


IEISH  REPUBLICANISM.  157 

of  Dillon,  ^to  rob  him  of  Nancy's  love,  and  deprive 
him  of  an  intended  bride.  But  the  result  was  graver 
than  the  crime  anticipated.  At  the  end  of  their 
visit  the  enfeebled  girl  fainted,  and  retired  to  the  bed 
of  sickness,  never  to  press  the  earth  again.  During 
all  the  time  that  Dillon  lay  in  the  hospital,  Nancy 
was  slowly  but  certainly  dying  at  New  Limerick. 
Consumption  would  probably  have  caused  her  death 
in  a  few  years  ;  but  Messrs.  Marx  and  Devoy  sent 
her  to^eternity  by  a  shorter  route.  Her  lover  had 
been  informed  of  her  illness,  but  had  no  thought 
that  death  would  so  speedily  claim  her  for  his  own. 

On  approaching  the  cottage  where  Nancy  resided, 
it  became  apparent  that  all  was  not  well.  Numerous 
women  of  doleful  and  subdued  appearance  were  sit 
ting  in  the  little  front  parlor.  As  Dillon  entered  he 
found  these  women  conversing  in  whispers.  One 
young  woman  was  silently  shedding  tears,  and  she, 
arising  from  her  chair,  suggested  to  him  to  walk 
softly  and  to  remain  in  the  outer  room  until  she  had 
first  announced  his  coming.  He  waited  some  minutes, 
and  receiving  no  sign  to  enter  the  sick-room,  he 
opened  the  connecting  door  in  his  anxiety  and  peeped 
into  the  room.  As  he  did  this,  Father  Ventura 
walked  out  of  Nancy's  room.  On  entering  he  found 
two  sisters  of  charity  kneeling  by  the  bed-side,  with 
bended  heads,  and  deeply  engaged  in  silent  prayer 
A  blessed  candle  lighted,  upon  a  little  table,  stood 
beside  the  large  crucifix  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  ;  and 
upon  the  bed,  with  eyes  closed  and  hands  devoutly 
clasped  above  her  heaving  breast,  lay  the  emaciated 
form  of  Nancy  McHugh.  She  was  pale  as  death, 
and  pitifully  wasted  ;  but  something— his  imagina 
tion,  perhaps,  or  more  probably  the  touch  of  the 
guardian  angel  invisibly  watching  beside  her— had 
made  her  seem  lovelier  than  ever.  A  thousand  bitter 
pangs  crowded  his  aching  heart.  If  he  had  only 


158  ERIN  MOR:     THE   STORY  OF 

foreseen  it ;  if  he  had  been  all  that  he  ought  to  have 
been  ;  if  human  malice  had  even  confined  itself  to 
the  bitter  truth  respecting  his  follies  and  misfortunes  ; 
if  the  politicians  and  their  wives  had  only  spared  the 
tender  heart  of  Nancy  the  suffering  for  him  of  a 
vicarious  atonement ;  if  he  had  left  her  in  Ireland; 
if  he  had  never  met  her  ;  if  he  had  never  been  born  ; 
if  the  waters  of  the  Atlantic  had  afforded  him  a 
grave  j  if— if—  if— «  Oh  God  of  Mercy,  you  know 
tfest !  '  he  exclaimed  in  passionate  and  bitter  agony, 
and  the  gentle,  tender  eyes  of  Nancy  looked  calmly 
into  his  agonized  face. 

Here  the  sisters  arose  from  the  bed-side  and 
motioned  Dillon  to  approach.  They  whispered  the 
truth,  that  Nancy  had  received  the  last  rites  of  the 
church  ;  had  made  her  peace  with  God,  and  would 
probably  have  been  in  heaven  some  hours  ago,  if 
she  had  not  struggled  with  death  in  the  hope  of  see 
ing  him  before  she  died.  He  bent  his  form  and 
kissed  her  forehead,  now  clammy  with  the  cold  sweat 
of  her  dying  agony.  She  tried  to  raise  her  wasted 
little  arms  to  embrace  him,  but  no  power  remained. 
Tenderly  he  lifted  her  hands  until  the  fingers  clasped 
upon  his  neck.  Her  eyes  slowly  closed,  but  the 
hands  remained  in  their  embrace  ;  the  patient,  pure 
and  constant  heart  had  ceased  to  beat — poor  Nancy 
Me  Hugh  was  dead. 

There  was  abundant,  heart-felt  sorrow  at  New 
Limerick,  and  -in  the  limited  circles  -in  New  York 
City  where  Nancy  McHugh  was  known.  All  that 
is  loving,  noble,  generous  and  tender  in  the  Irish 
nature  asserts  itself  in  the  presence  of  death.  The 
remains  of  the  departed  girl  were  tenderly  prepared 
by  loving  hands  for  the  solemn,  silent  hours  that  in 
tervene  between  death  and  the  grave.  The  sisters 
had  prepared  the  habiliments  of  death.  There  was 
the  plain  brown  habit,  with  its  melancholy  adorn- 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  159 

ments ;  the  wreath  of  flowers  and  green  vines  to 
festoon  the  coffin  ;  the  white  beads,  with  the  little 
silver  crucifix  that  Nancy  brought  from  home — the 
gift  of  Father  Joseph  Lenehan.  No  bride  was  ever 
decked  for  the  wedding  feast  with  better  grace  than 
the  poor,  pale  form  of  the  dead  girl  was  prepared  for 
her  last  long  rest  in  alien  but  not  ungenerous  earth, 
in  the  parish  cemetery  at  New  Limerick. 

All  this  was  the  heritage  of  the  dead  at  the  hands 
of  Christian  Ireland.  There  was  the  requiem  mass 
and  the  funeral  sermon,  the  tender  tears,  the  eternal 
farewells  ;  but  poor  Nancy  was  not  exempt  from  the 
penalty  that  seems  inseparable  from  Irish  burials  in 
America.  There  was  the  funeral — the  heartless  pagan 
pageant  that  follows  the  corpse  in  hollow  mockery  to 
the  grave.  There  were  some  real  friends  in  the  pro 
cession.  There  was  a  long  line  of  livery-stable 
buggies  ;  and  every  little  politician,  from  the  road 
supervisor  to  the  village  peeler  and  pound-master, 
was  out  in  force.  Mr.  Isaac  Marx  and  Mr.  'Barney 
Devoy  and  the  old  white  horse  were  near  the  head 
of  the  procession  ;  and  when  the  grave  had  closed 
over  all  that  was  mortal  of  poor  Nancy  McHugh,  the 
Chatham-street  "fence"  and  his  evil  Irish  factotum, 
Devoy,  were  among  the  first  to  extend  the  mockery 
of  their  condolence  to  the  afflicted  Andy  Dillon. 

This  is  "the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all"  to  an 
Irishman,  when  the  hand  of  God  falls  heavily  on  him 
by  the  death  of  some  one  dearly  beloved — the  pres 
ence  and  the  condolence  of  those  who  have  neither 
mercy  nor  pity  nor  charity  for  their  living  fellow- 
creatures.  And  the  livery  carriages  ;  and  the  sad- 
looking  "funeral  director"  (as  the  coffin-seller  is  now 
called) ;  and  the  days  and  nights  of  sorrow  for  his  dead. 

But  such  is  life,  and  such  is  death. 

In  a  secluded  corner  of  the  little  cemetery  of  New 
Limerick,  under  the  shadow  of  the  tall  elms,  under 


160  ERIN   MOR:     THE   ST011Y   OF 

the  mist  and  the  dew,  the  cloud  and  the  sunshine, 
the  storm  and  the  rain  ;  under  the  blue  sky  and  the 
watchful  stars,  and  under  the  omniscient  eye  of  a 
pitiful  God,  lie  the  ashes  of  Nancy  McHugh. 

May  her  pure  soul  rest  in  peace. 

Quickly  the  carriages  and  buggies  rushed  back  to 
the  village — from  the  resting-place  of  the  dead  to  the 
homes  of  the  living.  As  Dillon  stood  bewildered 
by  the  side  of  the  new-made  grave,  three  persons 
only  remained  with  him — the  Rev.  William  Mc- 
Nevin,  the  black  man,  Tony  Sexton,  and  Dr.  Pat 
rick  Barry,  the  surgeon  who  had  attended  him  at  the 
Sisters'  Hospital. 

In  all  the  sounds  of  earth  and  air,  there  is  nothing 
so  saddening  as  the  dull,  cold,  heavy,  heart-shocking 
fall  of  the  clods  upon  the  coffin  of  one  sincerely  be 
loved.  These  sounds  had  fallen  upon  his  heart  with 
crushing  severity.  He  felt  as  if  a  dark,  impene 
trable,  immovable  shadow  had  fallen  across  his  path 
in  life,  and  that  from  out  that  shadow  his  soul 
"  Should  be  lifted  nevermore." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

GLORIA  IN  EXCELSIS  DEO! 

OW  that  the  heart  and  hopes  of  Dillon 
were  thoroughly  crushed,  courtesy  de 
manded  that  he  receive  a  balm  for  his 
wounded  feelings.  There  is  some  small 
spark  of  human  nature  in  every  human 
heart  that  even  crime  cannot  entirely  destroy.  Mr. 
Marx  and  Mr.  Devoy  felt  that  they  had  done  this 
man  cruel  wrong,  and  they  concluded  to  make  his 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM,  161 

visit  at   New   Limerick  pleasant  as   possible.      Mr. 
Marx  remained  over  Sunday  for  that  special  purpose. 
^  On   Sunday  morning    they  escorted    him  to  the 
Church  of  St.  Loyola  ;  and  as  he  entered  the  sacred 
edifice,  and  before  the  mass  commenced,  he  feasted 
his   eyes  upon   the    congregation.     They    were  his 
people — bone  of  his  bone,  flesh  of  his  flesh — and  he 
was   one  of  them — every  fibre   of  his  body,    every 
pulse  of  his  heart  ;  and  as  he  saw  hundreds  of  men, 
young  and   old,  arrayed   in   fine   clothing,  and   hun 
dreds  of  comely  women,  mothers  and  cailins,  dressed 
in  cashmeres,  poplins  and  silks,  and  a  score  of  Irish- 
American  boys  in  surplice  at  the  foot  of  the  altar,  it 
seemed   (as   he  expressed   it)   as   if  "his   ribs  were 
sugar-candy,  and  his  heart  was   lickin'  them."     The 
mass  proceeded.     Father  Ventura  sang,  in  the   full, 
soft,  melodious  voice  of  the  Italian  that  he  was;  and 
the  choir,  consisting  of  a  dozen   voices,  sang  the  re 
sponses    in    soul-inspiring    tones    that    might    have 
awakened  the  souls  in  purgatory.      Nine  times  was 
the  divine  clemency  invoked  in  the  Kyrie  eleison, 
Christe  eleison  (Lord  have  mercy  on  us,  Christ  have 
mercy  on  us)  ;  and  then  arose  from  the  dozen  voices 
in   the  choir  the  Gloria  in  excelsis  Deo   (Glory  be 
to  God  on  high),  the  most  ancient  and  sublime  of 
all   Christian  doxologies,  which   has   ascended  from 
eve.ry  vale  in  Christendom  for  thirteen  hundred  years. 
The  divine  service  was  interrupted.     The  people 
turned  round  in  their  pews,  and  every  eye  was  fixed 
on  the  door.     Men  rushed  hurriedly  into  the  street. 
A  panic  ensued,  and  in  ten  minutes  the  priest  and 
one  attendant  were  the  only  occupants  of  the  build 
ing.     The  pastor  concluded  the  mass  as  if  nothing 
had  occurred.      Father  Ventura  divested  himself  of 
his  vestments  and  proceeded  -across  the  street,  forc 
ing  his  way  through  a  dense  throng  that  had  assem 
bled  in  front  of  Bill  Percival's  keno  room. 


11 


162  ERIN  MOB:     THE   STORY  OF 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  good  friend  ?"  the  Father 
inquired. 

"Oh,  nothing,  Father;  a  slight  disturbance." 

Bill  Percival  had  merely  stabbed  young  Teddy 
O'Connor,  the  oldest  son  of  a  prominent  church 
member,  with  a  dirk-knife ;  but  the  good  Father  went 
to  see,  and  there  lay  the  form  of  a  seventeen-year- 
old  youth  in  the  agonies  of  death. 

Percival  had  a  "big  pull"  in  his  ward.  He  was 
innocently  running  a  turkey  raffle,  when  Teddy,  in  a 
state  of  intoxication,  had  interrupted  the  proceed 
ings,  and  had  threatened  to  lick  the  proprietor  ;  and 
as  Father  Ventura  entered  the  Exchange,  Mr.  Per 
cival  was  touching  glasses  with  Colonel  Hoggitt,  and 
outlining  his  defense  upon  the  ground  that  Teddy 
O'Connor  had  made  a  motion  of  the  right  hand  in 
the  direction  of  his  hip  pocket.  Poor  Teddy  had 
no  weapon  upon  him ;  but  "that  would  make  no  dif 
ference,"  Judge  Hoggitt  explained,  "if  Teddy  had 
put  him  in  reasonable  apprehension  of  great  bodily 
harm."  Dillon  and  his  friends  followed  Mr.  Percival 
when  the  sheriff  arrested  him,  and  when  at  the  sher 
iff's  office  the  reporter  of  the  Daily  Times  inquired 
into  the  particulars,  Mr.  Percival  modestly  requested 
the  newspaper  man:  "Couldn't  you  kindly  leave  my 
name  out  of  the  paper  ?" 

Mr.  Percival  was  in  the  hands  of  his  friends,  and 
morning  and  evening  came  and  went,  and  "good 
citizens  "  discussed  the  probabilities  of  the  November 
election  ;  and  the  steady  tide  of  tin  cans  poured 
in  upon  "  the  family  department"  of  the  keno  hall, 
"rushing  the  growler,"  as  if  the  now  famous  propri 
etor  were  himself  personally  present. 

Monday  evening  Messrs.  Marx  and  Devoy  in 
sisted  upon  introducing  Dillon  to  the  leading  citizens 
of  New  Limerick. 

This,  Dillon  thought,  would  be  highly  interesting, 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  163 

as  it  would  include  a  trip  to  the  factories,  banks, 
stores  and  newspaper  offices  ;  but  his  friends  shook 
their  heads  and  explained  that  they  wouldn't  visit  the 
factories, 

"There's  riobocfy  there,"  Mr.  Devoy  explained, 
"  except  greasy  mechanics  and  factory  hands.  We'll 
steer  you  agin'  the  craim  de  la  craim,  thiggin  thu?" 

They  visited  Mr.  Bungstarter,  of  the  Hessian 
brewery,  and  Mr.  Funk,  agent  of  the  Peoria  distil 
leries,  and  Mr,  Albert  Michael  Devoy,  the  banker 
(bless  the  mark!),  and  Mr.  Bowell,  of  the  Fourth; 
and  Mr,  Marx  proudly  asserted  that  these  were  the 
political  princes  of  New  Limerick,  with  the  votes  of 
a  thousand  workingrnen  in  their  pockets. 

"  And  don't  these  fine-looking  Irish  workingmen 
that  I  saw  at  mass  yesterday  —  five  hundred  of  them  — 
have  something  to  say  in  politics  ?"  inquired  Dillon. 

"Oh,  certainly,"  replied  Mr.  Marx.  "  They  vote 
their  ticket  —  their  Democratic  ticket  ;  them's  the 
boys  that  go  it  straight  ;  not  one  of  'em  was  ever 
known  to  use  a  pencil,  Devoy  just  hands  'em  the 
ticket,  and  they  cast  a  freeman's  ballot,  every  one 
of  'em. 

"You're  whistlln',"  said  Mr.  Devoy,  by  way  of  an 
amen.  *'  They're  all  for  Democracy,  every  mother's 
sowl  of  'em  ;  all  nathural  Dimocrats." 

In  their  round  of  visiting,  Dillon  was  introduced 
to  several  of  the  "  nathural  Dimocrats"  —  fine,  broad- 
shouldered,  vigorous-looking  fellows,  with  eyes  and 
ears  and  brawny  hands,  looking  in  every  detail  and 
outline  just  like  men  —  and  he  sighed  for  his  Erin 


The  little  party  spent  the  evening  at  the  hospitable 
mansion  of  Mr.  Devoy,  up  stairs,  over  the  Buchanan 
Exchange  building.  Champagne  and  whisky  flowed, 
but  a  melancholy  drawback  to  the  festivities  was  the 
persistent  refusal  of  Dillon  to  drink  ;  and  when  they 


164  ERIN   MOB:    THE   STOKY   OF 

realized  his  firmness  they  applauded  his  virtuous  reso 
lution,  Mr.  Marx  observing  that  "no  man  who  liked 
whisky  ought  to  drink  it,"  and  Mr.  Devoy  adding 
that  ''no  one  who  didn't  like  champagne  ought  to 
touch  it." 

After  the  festivities  came  the  music  and  dancing. 
Professor  Crapoo,  who  was  instructing  Birdelia  in 
music,  dancing  and  French,  played  the  accompani 
ments  upon  the  piano,  while  the  pride  of  the  Devoy 
household  rendered  songs  from  famous  operas.  Her 
favorite  was,  as  the  professor  explained,  a  morcea^t 
from  "  II  Trovatore;"  but  when  she  rung  the  changes 
on  the 

" Non  ti  scordar  ti  me" 

old  Mrs.  Devoy's  nerves  became  unstrung,  and  she 
fervently  prayed  "  A  plague  upon  yer  tee-mee!  "  and 
"  Bad  luck  to  yer  Italianos."  Miss  Birdelia,  in  def 
erence  to  her  mother's  prejudices,  sang 

"  The  harp  that  once  thro'  Tara's  halls/' 
but  in  such  unfamiliar  "maw-claw-claws,"  that  Dillon 
expressed   his  sorrow  that  she   had   not  sung  it  in 
English. 

"  Oh,  that  was  English,"  Mrs.  Devoy  explained  ; 
"but  Birdelia  sings  by  note/' 

On  the  next  day  Dillon  was  a  familiar  figure  in 
town  ;  and  numerous  Irish  politicians,  who  were  in 
formed  of  his  misfortunes,  commencing  with  his 
"goin'  back  on  the  party/'  extended  to  him  their  con 
dolence  and  sympathy ;  and  as  he  looked  into  their 
eyes  and  realized  the  cruel  deceit  and  mockery  of  the 
sympathizers,  he  longed 

"  For  a  lodge  in  some  vast  wilderness," 
and  a  hundred  times  he  wished  that  some  of  them 
would  kick  him  out  doors,  or  openly  insult  him,  or 
do  anything  but  offer  him  their  sympathies.  At  last 
he  escaped  from  them,  but  only  for  a  little  while. 
He  could  walk  some  unfrequented  street,  or  retire 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  155 

into  his  room  and  escape  their  sympathy  and  con 
dolence,  but  he  could  not  escape  them  in  his  dreams. 
He  left  Devoy's  mansion  toward  midnight,  and  hur 
rying  to  his  hotel,  retired  at  precisely  twelve  o'clock. 
He    slept    and    dreamt—dreamt    that    the    wake    of 
Nancy  McHugh  was  being  held  in  a  damp  cellar, 
and  that  Devoy  and  Marx  were  there,  and  that  they 
and  numerous  of  their  henchmen  extended  him  their 
condolence,   and   he  thought  each  eye  that  looked 
on  him  was  fiery,  and  sent  forth  slender  columns  of 
flame  that  burned  into  his  breast  ;  and  it  seemed  to 
him   as   if  the   fingers  of  old  Barney  were  cold  as 
icicles,  strong  as  ox-hide,  and  hard  as  steel,  and  that 
the  fingers  grew  until  each  was  several  feet  in  length, 
extending  up  his  sleeve  and  around  his  back,  until 
they  clutched  him  in  deadly  embrace,  and  that  out  of 
this  terrible  dilemma  he  made  an  effort  to  retreat  ; 
and  that,  as  he  ascended  the  first  step,  .young  Tony 
Devoy   felled   him   with   a   hickory   club;  and  that, 
while  he  lay  helplessly  on   the   stone  steps,    Isaac 
Marx  picked  his  pockets,  and  Mr.  Bungstarter,  of 
the    Hessian   brewery,    poured   a  bucketful   of  cold 
stale  beer  in  at  his  coat  collar  and  down  his  back. 
He  awoke   in   a   cold   sweat,   looked   at  his   watch, 
which  indicated  twelve-fifteen.      He  had  been  in  bed 
just  fifteen  minutes.    Returning  to  bed,  he  lay  awake 
for  several   hours,  warming  over  dead  thoughts  of 
happier  times,  and  indulging  bitter  memories  of  "the 
might  have  been."     And  he  then  and  there  resolved 
that  he  would  place  three  thousand   miles  between 
him  and  his  political  friends  ;  that  he  would  seek  ob 
scurity  and  peace,  and  never  return  until  the  soul  of 
American   nationality  animated   the   breasts  of  the 
Irish  in  America. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

AN  IRISH  EVICTION. 

HEN  death  became  certain  to  Nancy 
Me  Hugh,  she  promptly  disposed  of  her 
temporal  effects.  She  dictated  a  letter 
and  committed  it  to  the  hands  of  Sister 
Mary  Isidore.  It  ran  as  follows  : 

"NEW  LIMERICK,  Sept.  4,  1869. 
"DEAR  MOTHER — It  is  Heaven's  will  that  I  must 
die,  and  the  will  of  God  be  done.  I  grieve  only  that 
you  and  my  brother  and  sisters  must  be  deprived  of 
the  assistance  that  I  could  lend  you  if  I  were  to  live. 
I  send  you  twenty  pounds — about  all  that  I  possess. 
I  intended  to  use  this  money  for  the  payment  of 
passage  tickets  for  yourself  and  the  children,  but  I 
send  you  the  money  instead,  so  that,  if  you  conclude 
to  remain  at  home,  you  can  use  it  as  you  please  ;  but 
I  advise  you  to  come  to  America.  The  children  will 
find  employment,  and  Dr.  Patrick  Barry,  whose  ad 
dress  is  Number West  Thirty-fifth  street,  New 

York  City,  has  promised  to  assist  you  in  settling 
down  and  finding  work  for  the  children  on  your  ar 
rival.  You  may  depend  on  him.  Now,  God  be  with 
you  !  We  must  never  meet  again  on  earth,  but  tell 
the  children  to  be  good  and  pious,  and  we  will  all 
meet  in  heaven.  Your  loving  daughther, 

NANCY  McHucn." 

The  letter  contained,  in  addition  to  the  draft  for 
twenty  pounds,  the  little  silver  crucifix,  an  Agnes 
Dei,  soiled  and  worn,  and  a  braid  of  the  silken  coal- 
black  hair  of  the  dying  girl.  The  page  itself  was 
stained  with  the  precious  tears  of  Sister  Mary  Isi 
dore,  which  copiously  fell  as  she  read  and  folded  the 
touching  epistle. 

The  letter  never  reached  the  hand  of  the  widow. 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  167 

Mrs.  McHugh  and  her  children  had  resided  for  many 
years  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town  of  Erinbeg.  They 
cultivated  two  acres  of  boggy  land,  and  when  the 
seasons  were  favorable  found  no  difficulty  in  paying 
the  rack-rent;  but  the  season  of  1868  was  disas 
trously  rainy  and  cold.  The  potato  crop  failed  ;  the 
rent  became  in  arrears.  Then  came  the  process 
server  with  the  decree  of  eviction,  and  the  sheriff  and 
his  deputies  to  enforce  it.  Trouble  was  anticipated. 
It  was  intimated  that  resistance  would  be  made,  and 
on  eviction  day  a  very  large  force  of  the  neighbor 
ing  peasantry  assembled  for  the  purpose  of  giving 
battle  to  the  sheriff's  officers.  There  were  arsenals 
of  scythes,  pitchforks,  axes  and  spades  hidden  behind 
the  ditches  in  the  neighborhood  for  use  against  the 
officers ;  but  when  the  forces  of  the  sheriff  appeared 
upon  the  scene,  resistance  was  evidently  hopeless. 
Four  hundred  police  had  been  drawn  from  the  coun 
ties  of  Leitrim,  Sligo  and  Roscommon,  and  there 
was  a  company  of  English  cavalry  from  Longford. 

Father  Joseph  Lenehan  was  fortunately  present. 
His  mind  immediately  comprehended  the  situation. 
He  felt  the  impossibility  of  defending  the  widow  in 
her  cabin,  and  so,  at  the  critical  moment,  he  preached 
the  gospel  of  peace,  and  advised  the  people  to  dis 
perse.  They  were  reluctant  to  comply,  for  they  stood 
in  the  presence  of  a  spectacle  of  extraordinary  cruelty. 

The  Widow  McHugh  had  lain  for  many  days 
struggling  between  life  and  death,  in  the  horrors  of 
typhus  fever.  The  disease  is  highly  infectious,  and 
neither  the  sheriff  nor  his  bailiffs,  nor  the  members 
of  the  police  force,  nor  the  cavalry  soldiers,  could  be 
induced  to  enter  the  cabin  for  the  purpose  of  remov 
ing  her.  It  was  not  mercy  for  the  apparently  dying 
widow,  but  terror  of  the  dread  disease,  that  deterred 
her  Majesty's  forces  from  executing  the  dread  sen 
tence  of  eviction  by  removing  the  fever  patient  by 
force  from  the  cabin. 


168  ERIN  MOR:     THE   STORY   OF 

But  the  British  empire  is  wonderfully  resourceful. 
The  great  mind  of  Horatio  Nelson  Curran,  her 
Majesty's  stipendiary  magistrate,  conceived  a  scheme 
which  embraced  the  execution  of  the  law  and  the 
exercise  of  mercy. 

Oh,  merciful  magistrate!  merciful  England!  and 
ah,  merciful  God!  His  proposition  was  simply  this: 
that  the  bailiffs  and  the  emergency  men  should  tear 
the  roof  from  the  cabin  first,  then  level  the  walls, 
remove  the  debris,  and  then  spread  a  sheet  of  canvas 
as  a  tent  over  the  prostrate  form  of  the  typhus- 
stricken  woman.  The  order  was  given,  and  the  work 
of  demolition  commenced. 

The  infuriated  peasantry  surged  up  to  the  very 
bayonets  of  the  police.  Mr.  Curran  read  the  riot 
act,  and  ordered  the  people  to  disperse  ;  the  cavalry 
stood  in  line  with  drawn  sabres  ;  the  police  received 
the  command,  "  Load  carbines." 

Not  a  peasant  moved.  Though  merciless  slauehter 
would  have  been  the  result,  these  peasants  stood 
ready,  with  naked  hands,  to  grapple  with  her  Majesty's 
forces  in  defense  of  the  widow's  cabin. 

Father  Lenehan  held  a  brief  consultation  with  the 
sheriff  and  the  magistrate,  and  stepping  on  a  little 
mound  in  front  of  the  cabin,  requested  the  attention 
of  the  people.  He  said  : 

"  My  brethren,  as  an  Irishman  and  a  priest  I  ask 
you,  in  the  name  of  God,  to  disperse.  I  need  not 
assure  you  that  I  am  as  eager  as  you  are  to  shield 
our  neighbor,  Widow  McHugh,  from  the  violence 
called  law  in  Ireland  ;  and  if  the  sacrifice  of  one  life 
— of  mine  or  of  any  one  of  yours — could  save  theclyino- 
widow  from  this  merciless  outrage,  that  life  might  be 
profitably  sacrificed  ;  but  it  is  not  the  question  of  one 
life.  You  see  the  power  here  ready  to  slaughter  you. 
Now,  boys,  take  your  pastor's  advice  and  disperse." 

The  mass  of  scowling  men  fell  back,  and  the  priest 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  169 

resumed   his  consultation   with   the   sheriff  and  the 


magistrate. 


"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "the  demolition  of  the 
cabin  is  unnecessary.  Call  off  your  bailiffs,  and  "I 
will  remove  the  dying  widow." 

So  saying  he  entered  the  cabin,  wrapped  the  in 
sensible  form  of  Widow  McHugh  in  a  blanket,  and 
lifting  her,  as  one  might  lift  a  child,  to  his  breast, 
tenderly  bore  her  from  the  cabin. 

Widow  McHugh  became  conscious  for  "a  little 
while  ;  but  within  a  week  from  the  date  of  the  evic 
tion  scene  she  was  laid  to  rest  beside  the  ashes  of 
her  husband  in  the  venerable  grave-yard  near  the 
village  square. 

The  widow's  children  were  homeless  orphans,  but 
even  in  Ireland  "  Heaven  tempers  the  wind  to  the 
shorn  lamb."  They  were  temporarily  cared  for  at 
the  homes  of  poor,  kind  neighbors,  and  with  the 
twenty  pounds  sent  by  sister  Nancy  they  purchased 
passage  tickets  for  America. 

Dr.  Barry  was  informed  of  their  coming,  and  met 
them  at  Castle  Garden  on  their  arrival.  Maggie,  the 
oldest,  was  a  girl  of  fifteen,  Johnny  twelve,  and 
Mary,  the  youngest,  a  child  of  nine  years. 

After  a  few  days  rest  at  Dr.  Barry's,  he  brought 
them  to  New  Limerick.  Here  they  found  old  friends 
and  profitable  employment.  Maggie  went  to  work 
at  the  linen  mill  of  McCook  &  Son  ;  Johnny  at  the 
rolling  mills  ;  and  little  Mary  became  domiciled  with 
a  good  family,  who  sent  her  to  school. 

Dr.  Barry  inquired  of  Mr.  McCook  how  wages  in 
Ireland  compared  with  wages  in  New  Limerick. 

"  In  Ireland,"  replied  Mr.  McCook,  "we  employ 
at  our  mills  eleven  hundred  hands  ;  here  in  New 
Limerick  we  employ  six  hundred,  and  the  wages  paid 
to  the  six  hundred  hands  in  New  Limerick  weekly  is 
only  a  few  dollars  less  than  the  amount  paid  to  eleven 
hundred  operatives  in  Ireland" 


170  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

'<  Here,"  he  continued,  "the  sober  and  the  indus 
trious  buy  building  sites  and  own  their  own  homes. 
I/  they  are  unmarried  and  desire  to  save  money,  we 
borrow  their  savings,  pay  them  five  per  cent  inter 
est,  and  use  the  money  in  our  business.  There  are 
two  Irish  girls  here,  sisters,  who  in  three  years  have 
saved  eleven  hundred  dollars.  They  might  live  in 
Ireland  to  be  as  old  as  Methusaleh's  goat,  and  never 
be  able  to  save  that  amount.  Every  time  I  go  to 
the  old  country  the  mill  hands  swarm  around  me, 
and  beg  me  to  take  them  to  America  ;  but  I  never 
ye;  found oneof  our  New  Limerick  employees  anxioLS 
to  return  to  the  Irish  mills." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  an  American  looking  for  em 
ployment  in  Ireland?  "  asked  the  doctor. 

"  Never, "  said  Mr.  McCook.  "  I  do  not  care  to 
enter  into  discussion  on  politics  with  my  employees, 
many  of  whom  are  active  free-traders ;  but  an  ounce 
of  fact  is  worth  a  ton  of  theory,  and  the  fact  that 
the  millions  of  our  race  who  come  over  generally  re 
main  is  an  unanswerable  argument  in  favor  of  our 
industrial  system,  and  knocks  the  most  seductive 
theories  of  political  economy  into  a  cocked  hat.  The 
greatest  annoyance  to  the  American  manufacturer  in 
our  days  comes  from  your  Irish  vote.  Agents  of 
the  Cobden  Club  from  New  York  City  and  college  pro 
fessors  from  New  Haven  come  down  here  every  fall, 
preaching  free-trade.  And  while  the  peeler  and  the 
sheriff,  with  crow-bar  and  battering-ram,  are  leveling 
the^cabins  of  the  Irish  in  Donegal  and  Conemara, 
their  Irish  children  and  kindred  are  doing  loyal  ser 
vice  for  England  in  American  elections." 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

TRAGIC  DEATH  OF  DEVOY. 

secluded   spot  near  Newton  Creek, 
Island,  there  stood  a  lar^e  rude 

0 

frame  building,  oblong  in  shape,  sur 
rounded  by  a  high  board  fence.  A  dense 
volume  of  smoke  ascending  from  its 
chimney,  and  its  powerful  smells  permeating  the  air 
indicated  that  animal  flesh  was  the  material  handled 
there.  This  institution  was  known  as  "  The  Horse 
Factory."  Mr.  Barney  Devoy  and  his  two  sons, 
Albert  Michael  and  Tony,  were  among  its  principal 
owners.  As  great  oaks  grow  from  little  acorns,  this 
important  establishment  was  but  the  expansion  of 
an  unpretentious  beginning.  Young  Tony  Devoy 
was  superintendent  of  the  New  Limerick  pound.  It 
is  needless  to  add  that  the  office  was  a  sinecure. 
Mr.  Devoy  and  Mr.  Isaac  Marx  united  their  influ 
ence  in  obtaining  for  Andy  Dillon  an  appointment 
as  Third  Assistant  Deputy  Pound-master ;  but  Dillon 
declined,  saying  that  personally  he  had  no  ambition 
for  political  office,  and  had  other  and  different  aims 
in  life  ;  and  when  the  two  distinguished  leaders  found 
that  he  firmly  declined  public  honors,  then  they  gen 
erously  offered  to  make  him  assistant  entry  clerk  at 
the  horse  factory.  Messrs.  Marx  and  Devoy  gloried 
in  the  institution,  not  alone  as  a  money-making  con 
cern,  but  also  as  a  living  monument  to  their  benevo 
lence  and  patriotism.  To  the  minds  of  these  two 
gentlemen,  aided  by  the  political  economy  ideas  of 
their  friend,  the  college  professor,  was  due  the  real 
ization  of  the  scheme  embracing  some  of  the  loftiest 
purposes  of  the  human  mind.  Mr.  Devoy,  for  many 
years,  had  contributed  to  the  poor  at  each  Christmas 
two  barrels  of  pigs'  feet,  which  were  unostentatiously 


172  EKIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

distributed  from  the  Buchanan  Exchange.  Some 
few  days  before  one  of  these  Christmas  festivals 
Mr.  Marx,  who  had  been  reading  a  Polish  newspaper, 
informed  Mr.  Devoy  that  horse-flesh  had  become  a 
regular  article  of  diet  among  working  people  in  cer 
tain  European  cities,  where  beef  and  mutton  were 
beyond  the  purchasing  power  of  the  toilers'  wages. 
Now  it  so  happened  that  at  the  New  Limerick  pound 
there  was  a  young  horse  with  a  broken  leg  ;  and  this 
animal  was  skinned  and  dressed  by  order  of  Mr. 
Devoy,  and  in  due  time  a  round  of  the  horse-meat 
was  served  by  way  of  free  lunch  at  the  Buchanan 
Exchange.  It  was  eaten  as  a  matter  of  course  by 
the  regular  customers,  and  many  of  the  free-lunch 
veterans,  men  to  whom  regular  meals  were  a  "fading 
reminiscence,"  pronounced  it  excellent.  New  Eng 
land  college  professors  were  at  this  period  active  in 
disseminating  the  doctrine  of  free-trade  or  tariff  re 
form,  the  fundamental  idea  of  which  was  cheapness. 
Messrs.  Marx  and  Devoy,  after  a  conference  with 
the  college  professor,  concluded  to  start  a  horse  fac 
tory,  not  so  much  for  the  purpose  of  gain  as  in  the 
maintenance  of  a  great  principle — the  cheapening  of 
animal  food,  and  to  carry  out  Mr.  Devoy's  lofty 
purpose  of  benevolence  toward  the  laboring  people 
of  Europe.  Thus  originated  the  "horse  factory  "  on 
Long  Island.  Here  thousands  of  a^ed  and  crippled 
horses  were  annually  driven  or  carried  from  the  horse- 
car  barns  and  livery-stables  of  New  York,  Jersey 
City  and  Brooklyn,  to  be  converted  into  corn  beef 
and  sausages  for  the  European  market;  and  here 
from  time  to  time  the  elder  Devoy  made  his  pilgrim 
ages.  Old  inhabitants  of  Newton  Creek  still  cherish 
Barney's  memory  for  what  they  deemed  the  great 
sympathetic  soul  that  was  in  him.  They  still  affec 
tionately  describe  him  as  contemplating  the  wretched 
horses,  with  his  head  uncovered.  H  -s  eyes  were  weak 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  173 

and  watery,  and  the  voluntary  flow  of  moisture  from 
those  eyes  these  good  people  mistook  for  tears  ;  and 
when  he  bared  his  ample  teeth  by  an  involuntary 
contraction  of  his  upper  lip,  the  villagers  mistook  it 
for  a  smile  ;  and  so  Mr.  Devoy  created  upon  the  rural 
mind  at  Newton  Creek  the  impression  made  by  a 
sunny  shower,  of  smiling  tearfully,  in  sympathy  with 
the  raw  material  for  his  factory.  Mr.  Marx  and  Mr. 
Devoy  insisted  that  Dillon  should  accompany  them 
to  Newton  Creek  and  see  the  factory.  Dillon  was 
not  informed  as  to  the  precise  character  of  the  busi 
ness,  and  supposed  that  Mr.  Devoy,  like  some  other 
prosperous  politicians,  was  a  horse-fancier,  and  was 
leading  him  to  his  breeding  pastures.  Great  was  his 
astonishment,  on  entering  the  corral  at  Newton  Creek, 
to  behold  a  drove  of  equine  skeletons. 

"Ah,  now,  Mr.  Devoy,"  he  said,  "I  understand. 
This  is  your  factory,  and  these  are  the  frames  that 
you  propose  to  build  up  into  horses." 

"  No,  indeed  ;  we  don't  build  them  up.  We  boil 
'em  clown,  and  ship  'em  to  the  Youropyan  market 
as  corn-beef  and  sausages.  Chape  merchandise 
manes  chape  labor,  and  to  keep  labor  chape  you  must 
feed  ifchape,  d'ye  moind.  That's  what  our  friend  the 
college  professor  calls  'political  aiconomy.'" 

Here  Mr.  Devoy  uncovered  his  most  economical 
forehead,  and  displayed  his  teeth,  and  shed  something 
like  a  tear,  and  when  Dillon  whispered  an  inquiry  to 
Mr.  Marx  as  to  the  cause  of  Mr.  Devoy's  emotion, 
Mr.  Marx  confidentially  replied:  "'Tis  his  nature,  my 
dear  freund.  Mr.  Devoy  alvays  breaks  down  in  the 
presence  of  suffering  old  age,  disease  and  misfortune." 

From  this  affecting  exhibition  they  led  Dillon  to 
inspect  the  machinery.  They  had  recently  imported 
from  Belgium  a  mammoth  sausage  machine,  into 
which  a  whole  carcass  was  dumped,  and  ground  into 
sausage  meat  with  amazing  rapidity.  Mr.  Devoy  led 


174  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

the  way.^  While  he  stood  at  the  edge  of  the  wonder 
ful  machine,  explaining  its  merits  in  detail,  the  skirt 
of  his  Prince  Albert  coat  was  grabbed  and  drawn 
down  into  the  hopper,  and  with  the  skirt,  the  body 
of  Mr.  Devoy.  Mr.  Marx  clutched  wildly  at  the 
fleeting  form  of  his  friend,  but  in  vain  ;  for  quick  as 
thought  almost,  the  victim  was  carried  down  and 
mingled  with  the  mass  of  meat  in  the  great  receiving 
vat  of  the  factory 

The  precise  manner  of  Mr.  Devoy's  retirement  was 
kept  profoundly  secret  from  the  afflicted  family,  and 
the  sorrowing  community.  The  coroner's  jury,  upon 
the  evidence  of  Mr.  Marx,  returned  their  verdict  of 
"death  from  natural  causes;"  and  when  the  beautiful 
rosewood  coffin,  with  its  massive  silver  mountings, 
was  jowered  into  the  grave,  not  one  of  the  tearful 
multitude  doubted  that  the  wooden  dummy  which 
filled  the  casket  was  the  body  of  the  lamented  Devoy, 
in  persona  propria. 

It  was  a  wonderful  funeral.  Four  dark  horses 
drew  the  richly  decorated  hearse,  and  the  little  white 
horse  which  Mr.  Devoy  had  driven  to  funerals  so 
often  was  caparisoned  in  mourning,  and  led  in  ad 
vance  of  the  cortege".  There  was  an  immeris£  pro 
cession  of  livery  teams.  If  the  soul  of  Mr.  Devoy 
escaped  in  angelic  form  from  his  body,  and  if 
that  soul  was  conscious  of  things  transpiring  on  this 
mundane  sphere,  it  is  not  unnatural  to  suppose  that 
contemplation  of  that  splendid  funeral  procession 
somewhat  reconciled  the  immortal  part  of  the  departed 
leader  to  the  sudden  separation  from  its  house  of 
clay. 

There  was  mourning  in  the  family,  of  course,  and 
heart-felt  sorrow  among  his  intimate  political  friends  ; 
but  very  many  of  the  good  citizens  and  tax-payers, 
whom  courtesy  and  custom  led  to  the  grave*  of  Mr. 
Devoy,  accepted  the  decree  of  heaven  with  fortitude 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  175 

and  becoming  resignation.  It  is  needless  to  add  that 
a  magnificent  tomb  marks  the  spot  which,  by  a  polite 
and  merciful  fiction,  is  regarded  as  his  last  resting 
place.  His  death  was  tragic  in  the  extreme ;  and  still, 
.to  the  minds  of  those  who  believed  with  him  in  the 
doctrine  of  cheapness,  there  must  appear  a  touch  of 
the  heroic  in  his  taking  off. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  VOYAGE  AROUND  CAPE  HORN. 

?N  the  month  of  October  the  sailing  vessel 
Coronado  hove  up  her  anchor,  sailed  down 
the  North  River  and  through  New  York 
harbor  to  the  ocean.  The  voyage  of  a  mer 
chant  vessel  around  Cape  Horn,  however 
interesting  to  read  about,  is  to  those  aboard  a  com 
monplace  experience — a  thing  of  toil,  unpoetic  and 
monotonous.  The  same  everlasting,  unbeginning, 
endless  sea ;  the  clock-work  regularity  of  the  watches^ 
the  patient  drudgery  of  all  on  board,  the  absolute 
sway  of  the  officers,  the  shifting  breezes,  the  occa 
sional  storms,  and  the  consequent  calls  for  all  hands 
on  deck.  There  is  the  gradual  increase  of  warmth, 
until  the  equator  has  been  crossed,  and  then  the 
gradual  lowering  of  the  temperature,  until  cold  and 
fogs  and  storms  are  encountered  at  and  around  Cape 
Horn.  Then  the  shifting  and  the  tacking,  and  the 
battling  against  adverse  winds,  and  at  last  again  the 
smooth  sailing  under  the  genial  suns  and  gentle 
breezes  of  the  Pacific  Ocean.  There  are  occasional 
glimpses  of  land  along  the  coasts  of  Chile,  Peru, 
Central  America  and  Mexico  ;  the  landing  for  water 


176  ERIN   MOR:    THE   STORY   OF 

at  Juan   Fernandez,  and  brief  delays  at  one  or  two 
points  on  the  coast  of  Lower  California. 

One  of  these  points  is  Ensenada.  Here  the  Coro- 
nado  anchored,  and  some  few  passengers  were  brought 
in  row  boats  to  the  ship,  bound  for  San  Diego.' 
Among  the  passengers  was  a  woman  with  a  three- 
year-old  child.  The  woman  was  a  full-blooded 
Indian,  dark  almost  as  an  African,  with  black  flash 
ing  eyes,  and  coal-black  hair.  The  lips  were  full 
and  pouting,  while  there  was  a  total  absence  of  that 
ferocity  of  appearance  which  characterizes  the  abori 
gines  in  _the  northwest.  The  child,  though  of  dark 
complexion,  was  fair  when  compared  with  the  woman; 
its  eyes  were  also  dark,  but  its  hair  was  fair  and  light 
and^soft — the  very  antithesis  of  the  raven  locks  of  the 
Indian  woman.  They  were  mother  and  daughter. 
The  woman  was  Juanita  Woerner,  the  wife  of  Mar 
tin  Woerner,  a  pioneer  ranchero  of  the  San  Diego 
Mountains.  Martin  had  taken  a  homestead  on  Mesa 
Grande,  near  the  border  of  the  rancho  of  San  Jose 
del  Valle,  and  only  a  few  miles  distant  from  the 
camping  grounds  of  the  Agua  Calient e  Indians.  En 
tirely  destitute  of  capital,  he  labored  patiently  and 
was  in  a  fair  way  to  succeed  upon  his  homestead, 
when,  like  the  wisest  and  bravest  of  his  sex,  he  fell 
desperately  in  love  with  the  dark- eyed  Juanita,  the 
reigning  belle  of  the  Agua  Caliente  band  of  Indians. 
Martin  was  fair  as  Juanita  was  dark.  He  had  the 
typical  blue  eyes,  fair  skin  and  light  soft  hair  of  the 
Northern  Teuton. 

Juan.ta  was  a  fair  specimen  of  her  race,  gracefully 
formed,  domestic  in  her  training,  skilled  in  the  rude 
house-keeping  of  her  tribe,  virtuous  and  devoted. 
Martin  wooed  and  won  her,  but  she  failed  to  fulfill 
the  ideal  of  a  wife  which  Martin's  fancy  painted.  She 
stoutly  maintained  that  she  was  neither  a  donkey  nor 
an  ox,  nor  could  the  most  persuasive  eloquence  of 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  177 

Martin  induce  her  to  take  her  place  beside  a  heifer 
at  the  plow.  All  this  he  discovered  after  the  mar 
riage  ceremony  that  united  his  soul  to  the  soul  of 
this  Indian  maiden. 

One  great  purpose  occupied  his  waking  thoughts 
and  his  nightly  dreams  :  to  sell  on  any  terms  the 
personal  improvements  on  his  homestead,  so  that  he 
might  be  severed,  corporeally  at  least,  from  his  newly 
married  wife,  Juanita.  This  he  at  last  succeeded  in  ac 
complishing,  and  he  started  with  a  team  of  donkeys 
into  Lower  California,  in  quest  of  the  copper  mines 
said  to  exist  in  the  mountains  back  of  Ensenada.  After 
his  departure  for  California  Baja,  a  child  was  born 
to  Juanita,  and  this  child  was  duly  baptized  Marcel- 
Una.  When  she  was  three  years  old,  the  mother  and 
little  daughter  traveled  into  Lower  California  in  pur 
suit  of  the  runaway  father,  and  found  him  near  En 
senada,  living,  as  married  people  live,  with  a  woman 
of  his  own  nationality.  This  discovery,  coupled  with 
his  refusal  to  recognize  his  wife  and  child,  broke  the 
heart  and  dethroned  the  reason  of  the  devoted  Jua 
nita,  and  so  we  find  them  on  the  ship  Coronado, 
returning  to  their  home  in  the  San  Diego  County 
mountains. 

The  vessel  was  sailing  before  a  light  breeze,  some 
ten  miles  west  of  the  Lower  California  coast,  about 
midway  between  Ensenada  and  San  Diego.  It  was 
morning  of  a  delightful  day  in  March.  The  sailors 
were  engaged  in  the  various  little  tasks  incident  to 
their  lives  as  seamen.  Tony  Sexton  in  the  galley 
was  smoking  his  pipe,  and  Dillon  sitting  aft  enjoying 
the  delightful  breath  of  the  Southern  Sea,  when 
everybody  on  deck  was  startled  with  the  cry,  "  Man 
overboard !'"  All  hands  rushed  aft,  and  pitiable  to 
behold:  the  Indian  woman,  Juanita,  and  the  fair- 
haired  child  Marcellina  were  tossing  in  the  waves  abaft 

J*s 

of  the  Coronado.     The  elemented  mother,  with  child 

12 


178  ERIN   MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

in  her  arms,  had  flung  herself  overboard.  The  shock 
had  doubtless  temporarily  restored  her  senses,  for 
she  appeared  to  be  endeavoring  to  save  the  child, 
whom  but  a  moment  before  she  was  determined  to 
destroy.  With  the  left  arm  she  held  the  little  one 
above  the  waves,  while  she  used  the  right  arm  in 
swimming.  Dillon,  divesting  himself  of  coat  and 
slippers,  jumped  into  the  sea  and  swam  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  mother  and  child ;  and  before  the  vessel 
had  slackened  its  speed,  and  before  a  boat  had  been 
lowered,  he  had  relieved  the  mother  by  grasping  the 
child  in  the  embrace  of  his  left  arm.  At  the  same 
instant  a  huge  man-eating  shark  was  seen  to  rise 
above  the  surface  of  the  water  and  suddenly  dash  in 
the  direction  of  the  struggling  Juanita.  Simultane 
ously  the  cook,  Tony  Sexton,  carving  knife  in  hand, 
jumped  into  the  waves  and  swam  to  the  rescue  of 
the  woman.  It  was  too  late,  for  though  he  succeeded 
in  terminating  the  unequal  contest  by  inflicting 
mortal  wounds  upon  the  shark,  the  ferocious  mon 
ster  had  done  its  cruel  work,  and  woman  and  shark, 
both  dead  or  dying,  disappeared  beneath  the  waves, 
leaving  for  a  moment  some  bloody  streaks  to  mark 
the  spot  above  the  ocean-grave  of  Juanita. 

Dillon,  with  the  fair-haired  child,  and  Sexton  the 
black  man,  with  carving  knife  still  in  hand,  were  res 
cued  by  the  boats ;  sails  were  re-set,  and  the  Coro- 
nado  plowed  its  way  to  San  Diego  Bay,  anchoring  at 
night  in  shelter  of  Point  Loma.  When  day  dawned, 
and  the  silvery  sun,  stealing  over  the  mountains,  lit 
up  the  land  and  sea,  all  eyes  upon  the  Coronado  en 
joyed  a  feast  in  contemplating  the  wonderful  scenery. 
To  the  northward,  the  promontory  of  Point  Loma 
extended  from  the  ocean,  sheltering  the  harbor  from 
wind  and  wave.  From  old  town  on  the  north  to 
Chula  Vista  on  the  south,  along  the  margin  of  the 
bay,  for  fifteen  miles,  stood  human  habitations. 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  179 

Around  the  town  rose  gently  sloping  circling  hills, 
green  as  emerald  ;  and  behind  the  hills  lay  the  mesa, 
or  table  land,  the  connecting  link  between  the  coast 
valleys  and  the  mountain  foot ;  and  above  and  beyond 
the  mesa,  in  wider  and  loftier  circle,  rose  the  bold 
highlands  of  Mexico  to  the  south,  and  the  towering 
form  of  San  Miguel,  fifteen  miles  to  the  east,  with  its 
green  summit  bathed  in  sunlight,  and  its  foot  refresh 
ing  itself  in  the  leaping,  laughing  waters  of  the  Sweet- 
water  River,  East  and  north  the  mountains  form  a 
perfect  amphitheater  ;  and  the  naked  eye  follows  the 
panorama  until  the  light  green  is  blended  in  a  darker 
green,  and  this  darker  green  in  turn  is  lost  in  the 
black  and  white  presented  by  the  pine  forests,  and  the 
snow-clad  peaks  of  the  Cuyamaca  Mountains,  forty 
miles  to  the  east.  Somewhere  amid  these  mountains 
were  the  relatives  of  the  motherless  child,  Marcellina ; 
and  when  Dillon  found  himself  relieved  from  service 
on  the  ship,  he  hastened  up  town,  intent  upon  find 
ing  the  relatives  of  little  Marcellina,  and  restoring  her 
to  her  kindred.  He  found  little  difficulty  in  locating 
them.  He  learned  that  Marcellina's  grandfather, 
Francisco/resided  at  the  base  of  the  Vulcan  Mountain, 
near  Agua  Caliente,  some  sixty  miles  inland  from  San 
Diego, 

On  the  plaza  (public  square)  of  San  Diego,  there 
was  assembled  a  crowd  of  sun-browned  men,  com 
posed  of  ranchmen,  Mexicans,  cowboys,  Indians  and 
tramps,  listening  to  an  aged  gentleman  who  stood  in 
a  wagon  and  distributed  tracts,  while  he  explained,  in 
singularly  persuasive  tones,  the  contents  of  the  printed 
matter.  The  central  figure  was  "Old  Pridmore,"  a 
benevolent-looking,  bald-headed  Englishman ;  the 
literature  which  he  distributed  was  a  tract  called 
"The  Western  Farmer  of  America,"  written  by  Au 
gustus  Mongredien,  published  in  London,  England, 
and  bearing  on  its  title-page  the  maxim  of  the  Cob- 


180  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

den  Club:  "  Free  trade  ;  peace  ;  good-will  among  the 
nations."  :t  Verily,"  said  Dillon  to  himself,  "  this  is 
refreshing  :  '  Peace;  good-will  among  the  nations! 
This  is  a  loving  message,  coming  from  England,  a 
nation  which  within  a  century  has  employed  the  mer 
ciless  Indians  to  use  the  scalping  knife  on  American 
women  and  children ;  which,  within  the  memory  of 
living  men,  sent  its  vandal  sailors  to  burn  this  Nation's 
capital,  without  even  the  poor  excuse  of  military  ne 
cessity  ;  which  has  recently  blown  the  Hindoo  in 
bundles  from  the  cannon's  mouth  ;  which  poisons  the 
Chinese  with  opium  and  the  African  with  rum  ;  and 
which  is  to-day,  with  battering-ram  and  soldier,  bailiff 
and  peeler,  leveling  the  cabins  of  my  kindred  in  Ire 
land — all  in  the  interest  of  '  peace,  good-will  among 
the  nations' — moryak.  And  this  accursed  power  is 
the  friend,  co-laborer  and  ally  of  the  Democratic 
party  in  America." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  DEMOCRATIC  ••  ROUND-UP." 

PARTY  of  miners  were  "out-fitting7"  at 
San  Diego  for  a  trip  to  the  Julian  Mines ; 
and  as  the  relatives  of  Dillon's  little 
ward,  Marcelling,  were  supposed  to  re 
side  somewhere  in  the  Julian  country, 
he  joined  the  party  on  the  southern  bank  of  the  San 
Diego  River.  He  arranged  with  a  member  of  the 
party  for  the  transportation  of  himself  and  the  little 
girl.  That  evening  he  climbed  the  rugged  bluffs, 
three  hundred  feet  in  height,  to  the  table-land  that 
stretches  between  the  city  and  the  valley  of  the  San 
Diecro  River.  From  this  elevated  mesa  there  was 


IEISH  REPUBLICANISM.  181 

presented  a  magnificent  view  of  the  ocean,  the  bay, 
the  valley,  and  the  circling  mountains  in  the  back 
ground.  The  San  Diego  Bay  region  lay  beneath 
him,  stretching  along  the  sea,  a  distance  of  five-and- 
twenty  miles,  from  the  ocean  caves  of  La  Jolla  upon 
the  north  to  the  border  line  of  Old  Mexico  upon  the 
south,  and  eastward  until  the  flower-carpeted  mesa 
was  merged  in  the  shadows  of  the  granite  mountains 
beyond  the  valley  of  El  Cajon.  The  sun  was  slowly 
setting  far  out  upon  the  Pacific  Ocean,  and  men  and 
women,  civilized  and  savage,  paused  from  their  toil 
to  gaze  on  the  picture  painted  upon  the  western  sky 
by  the  hand  of  God,  as  the  Christian  peasant  in  the 
fields  of  Europe  paused  at  the  sound  of  the  Angelus 
bell ;  and  the  sense  of  gratification  gives  way  to  feel 
ings  of  regret  as  the  sun  sinks  to  rest  in  the  bosom 
of  the  Pacific.  He  had  relaped  into  his  waking 
dream  of  Erin  Mor,  his  greater  Ireland  in  America, 
picturing  the  good  time  coming  when  the  manhood 
of  his  race  would  realize  the  dignity  of  American 
citizenship  ;  and  he  thanked  kind  Heaven  that  he 
was  removed  from  the  hot-beds  of  local  politics,  and 
the  vulgar  wiles,  the  treacheries,  cruelties  and  deceits 
of  the  baser  sort  of  politicians,  when  he  was  startled 
from  his  reverie  by  a  voice  that  was  unmistakeably 
Irish,  saying: 

"  Hello,  Fogarty!  is  that  you,  Fogarty?" 
There  was  "a  tear  in  the  voice,"  as  the  French 
say,  a  tone  of  anxiety  and  a  trace  of  dread  ;  and  as 
the  stranger  approached  him,  Dillon,  stating  that  he 
was  not  Fogarty,  inquired  into  the  cause  of  the 
speaker's  distress. 

"I  was  lookin'  for  Fogarty,"  he  said,  "to  attend 
the  corkus.  We  are  short  jist  three  votes  to  over 
come  the  Missourians  and  the  Dutch ;  and  seein',  as 
I  believe,  that  you're  an  Irishman,  and  a  Democrat, 
of  coorse,  wouldn't  it  be  jist  as  convanient  for  you  to 


182  EEIN  MOK:    THE  STORY  OF 

come  over  and  give  us  a  lift?  The  Irish,  sir,  are 
battlin'  for  their  rights.  They  think  themselves  en 
titled  to  the  office  of  constable  in  Old  Town,' and  it's 
meself  is  the  candidate.  Come  over  and  give  us  a  lift/' 

"But  I  am  not  a  citizen  of  California,  and  I  have 
no  rioht  to  vote  in  your  caucus." 

"  Och,  botheration  to  the  right.  That  makes  no 
difference.  Think  of  Democracy,  and  your  race  and 
religion.  Come  down  avic  and  give  us  a  lift.  Come 
down,  darlin',  to  the  assistance  of  the  holy  cause  of 
Dimocracy  and  me,  and  may  ye  never  be  sick  until 
I'm  a  docthor  to  cure  ye." 
.  "But,  my  friend, suppose  I'm  not  a  Democrat?" 

"  Ah,  give  us  a  rest !  it's  jokin'  you  are.  An  Irish 
man  not  a  Dimocrat  ?  Ha!  ha!  ha!  begorra,  that's 
good." 

11  Oh,  you  go  to  the  devil!"  said  Dillon,  as  he  rose 
•  and  walked  down  the  winding  path  leading  from  the 
hilltop  to  the  river,  wondering  whether  there  was  not 
some  spot  within  the  borders  of  the  republic  in  which 
an  Irishman  could  escape  from  the  roll-call  and  the 
" round-up"  of  the  Democratic  party,  and  as  he 
reached  the  valley  he  could  still  hear  the  voice  pene 
trating  the  chaparral  thickets,  and  searching  the  dark 
ravines  :  "Hello,  Fogarty!  where  are  you,  Fogarty ?'* 

Dillon,  having  carefully  folded  Marcellina  in  her 
blanket  in  the  shelter  of  the  stunted  pepper  trees,  laid 
himself  down  to  rest ;  but  it  was  late  at  night  before 
he  slept,  for  memory  called  up  many  a  vision,  and 
when  his  eyelids  closed,  imagination  assailed  his 
senses  with  the  Spartan  cry  of  "Fogarty,  come  over 
and  give  us  a  lift,  for  Democracy  and  me." 

The  first  day's  march  led  the  cavalcade  up  the  val 
ley  of  the  San  Diego  River  to  the  mountain  foot  now 
known  as  Foster's,  where  numerous  mountain  rills 
unite  in  the  broad  shallow  river,  and  the  mountain 
wall  rises  almost  perpendicularly,  its  granite  face  pre- 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  183 

senting  an  apparently  impassable  barrier  ;  but  appear 
ances  are  deceptive,  for  Nature  in  the  bygone  ages 
had  chiseled  out  a  winding  ravine,  which  in  our  day 
the  hand  of  man  has  utilized  into  a  public  road  across 
the  mountains.  This  passage  had  been  leveled  by 
strong  and  patient  hands  over  the  numerous  gorges 
that  were  chiseled  by  mountain  torrents,  the  pro 
ducts  of  the  excavation  serving  to  pave  the  outer 
margin  of  the  roadway,  a  safe  and  solid  road  withal; 
and  up  this  winding  way  the  party  traveled  at  a  slow 
but  steady  pace.  To  the  right  of  the  road,  and  a 
hundred  feet  lower  than  its  level,  a  rapid,  narrow 
stream  dashed  over  massive  boulders,  and  anon 
peacefully  glided  over  a  level  bed  among-  the  roots 
of  the  gigantic  sycamores  that  lined  its  margin,  and 
sought  their  life  in  the  richness  and  moisture  of  its 
narrow  bed.  Great  live  oaks  and  cottonwoods 
abounded  near  the  entrance  to  the  pass,  but  as  the 
party  ascended  the  mountain  became  bolder  and 
balder,  its  rock-ribbed  slopes  but  scantily  relieved  by 
vines  and  flowering  shrubs,  and  by  masses  of  the 
dark  green  chaparral.  White  sage  was  abundant ; 
and  upon  its  stems  and  leaves  myriads  of  wild  honey 
bees  were  swarming.  The  tiny  birds  nestled  and 
twittered  in  the  shrubs.  Rabbits  and  covies  of 
mountain  quail  were  abundant.  Toward  evening,  a 
small  hunting  party  rode  up  a  deep  ravine,  and  were 
rewarded  by  a  pair  of  young  deer.  An  old  hunter 
climbed  among  masses  of  rock  and  returned  with  a 
pail  full  of  wild  honey,  amber-colored  and  richly  flav 
ored  ;  and  when  the  party  camped  for  the  night,  there 
was  a  rich  feast  for  all  upon  bacon,  venison,  pancakes, 
coffee  and  wild  honey.  The  encampment  was  made 
in  a  valley  studded  with  massive  live-oaks,  and  cov 
ered  with  grasses  and  wild  oats.  A  pretty  little 
stream  wended  through  the  valley,  and  springs  of 
pure  water  were  everywhere  abundant. 


184  EEIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

The  next  morning  the  cavalcade  entered  the 
Rancho  Santa  Maria,  traveled  up  the  valley  of  the 
Ballena,  and  down  into  the  Rancho  Santa  Ysabel. 
It  was  sundown  when  the  party  entered  the  little 
village  of  Julian,  "  the  metropolis  of  the  mountain 
belt."  While  the  warm  breath  of  the  desert  stole 
across  the  mountains  lying  eastward,  the  peaks  of  the 
Cuyamaca,  ten  miles  distant  to  the  south,  were  deeply 
clad  in  snow;  and  while  great  white  and  red  roses 
bloomed  in  the  gardens  and  along  the  cottage  walls  at 
San  Diego,  and  in  all  the  sea-coast  valleys,  it  was 
wintry  still  among  the  mountains ;  and  great  was  the 
gratification  of  Dillon  when  himself  and  little  Mar- 
cellina  were  housed  for  the  night  in  the  corner  of  a 
large  rude  one-story  frame  building,  heated  by  a 
cheerful  log  fire  burning  in  an  old-fashioned  open  fire 
place  ;  and  before  supper  was  announced,  Dillon  and 
his  child  companion  were  both  asleep. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

A  SMALL  POLITICIAN'S  REVENGE. 

ILLON  was  awakened  sometime  in  the 
night  by  sounds  of  revelry  in  the  other 
end  of  the  building  that  gave  him  shelter. 
There  was  somebody  rasping  on  a  violin, 
and  a  voice,  that  sounded  like  a  cracked 
bugle,  was  endeavoring  to  sing  a  beautiful  song  from 
the  opera,  "The  Bohemian  Girl": 

"  When  other  lips  and  other  hearts 
Their  tales  of  love  shall  tell " — 

As  the  singer    repeated  the    refrain,  "Then   you'll 
remember  me,"  there  was    vigorous   applause;  and 


1KISH  REPUBLICANISM.  185 

thus  encouraged,  the  singer,  perhaps  in  a  spirit  of 
enthusiasm,  and  perhaps  in  pure  forgetfulness,  re 
peated  again  his 

"  You'll  remember  me, 
Then  you'll  rem'ember, 
Then  you'll  remember, 
Then  you'll  remember  me." 

Dillon,  finding  sleep  impossible,  rose  from  his 
blankets,  put  on  his  coat,  clenched  his  fist,  and 
moulded  an  anathema  upon  the  singer,  but  did  not 

utter  it,    merely  saying:     "By ,  but  no,  I  won't 

swear;  but  I  will  remember  you.  If  I  live  to  be  a 
hundred  years  old,  I'll  never  forget  you."  He  then 
walked  to  the  bar-room,  which  was  separated  from 
the  rest  of  the  great  enclosure  by  a  canvas  tent 
cover,  and  in  this  sanctum  sanctorum  twenty  men 
were  seated  on  boxes  and  barrels,  drinking  and 
carousing.  The  singer  was  the  central  figure,  a 
veritable  Bacchus,  still  imploring  them  to  "  remember 
him  ;"  and  as  he  closed  his  eyes,  threw  back  his  head 
and  opened  his  capacious  mouth,  he  was  a  never-to- 
be-forgotten  object.  He  was  dressed  in  an  old 
Prince  Albert  black  cloth  coat,  that  might  have  been 
new  at  the  beginning  of  the  century,  worn  and  glossy 
with  age,  mud-bespattered  by  mountain  travel,  and 
disclosing  from  its  skirt  pocket  an  old  red  bandana 
handkerchief.  His  head  was  surmounted  by  a  tall 
silk  hat,  which,  from  appearances,  had  been  some 
times  kicked  and  often  sat  upon ;  for  the  crown 
leaned  to  the  right  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees. 
His  coat  collar  was  tightly  buttoned  or  pinned,  and 
a  stand-up  paper  collar,  reversed,  so  as  to  be  fastened 
behind,  encompassed  his  long  and  wasted  looking 
neck.  He  was  altogether  such  a  caricature  of  a 
Catholic  priest  as  did  duty  in  Harpers  Weekly 
before  that  paper  became  the  organ  of  tariff  reform. 
As  Dillon  listened  to  his  voice,  and  gazed  into  his 
cadaverous  face,  there  seemed  to  him  a  striking  simi- 


186  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

larity  between  the  singer  and  some  one  he  had  heard 
and  seen  before,  but  the  name  Tim  Devereaux,  and 
the  nick-name  "Slippery  Tim"  being  to  him  un 
familiar,  he  failed  to  connect  his  man  with  those  that 
he  supposed  him  to  resemble. 

This  "Slippery  Tim"  was  a  familiar  and  yet  a  mys 
terious  character.  He  had  come  from  Bloody  Gulch, 
Arizona.  He  was  never  known  to  do  any  kind  of 
labor,  nor  had  he  any  profession  or  regular  means  of 
support.  He  was  reputed  to  be  a  "man  of  great 
learning;  and  the  rude  miners  and  ranch  men,  espe 
cially  the  Irish,  viewed  him  with  amazement,  as  ne 
rattled  off  in  Latin  the  opening  sentences  of  Cicero's 
denunciation  of  Cataline,  "  How  long,  O  Cataline," 
etc.,  and  the  first  paragraph  of  Pio  Nono's  anathema 
against  the  Fenians.  It  was  said  that  Irishmen, 
suspecting  him  of  being  a  cast-off  clergyman,  occa 
sionally  gave  him  a  silver  coin  for  charity's  sake,  and 
he  was  reputed  to  have  earned  fees  by  pretending  to 
work  miracles  on  the  sickly  children  of  poor,  credu 
lous  Mexicans  at  San  Diego. 

When  Dillon  had  returned  to  his  rest,  and  found 
opportunity  for  reflection,  he  remembered  that 
this  "  Slippery  Tim  "  was  the  same  person  who  made 
night  hideous  on  the  hilltop  at  Old  Town  some  three 
days  before,  by  shouting  for  "  Fogarty,"  and  im 
ploring  Dillon  himself  to  assist  him  at  the  Democratic 
caucus.  Failing  in  his  ambition  politically,  he  at 
tached  himself  to  a  mining  expedition,  and  arrived  at 
Julian  sometime  during  the  night  of  Dillon's  arrival, 
and  he  devoted  his  vocal  powers  to  the  entertain 
ment  of  a  party  of  miners,  who  had,  as  reported,  made 
a  rich  discovery  of  gold  north  of  the  Vulcan  Moun 
tain,  three  miles  from  the  Indian  settlement  at  Agua 
Caliente. 

Everybody  in  Julian  was  excited  over  this  most 
recent  gold   discovery,  and   before   daylight  a  party 


REPUBLICAN  ISM.  1£7 

had  assembled  for  the  purpose  of  forming  an  ex 
pedition  to  the  mines.  Dillon  learned  that  the  grand 
parents  of  Marcellina  dwelt  near  Agua  Caliente,  and 
himself  and  his  little  ward  were  ready  at  daylight  to 
join  the  procession.  The  party  started,  mounted  on 
horses  and  mules,  and  leading  pack  animals  laden 
with  provisions  and  mining-  tools.  Some  few  marched 
on  loot,  leading  burros  for  freight  purposes,  and  some 
few  others  with  naked  hands  and  empty  purses  fol 
lowed  the  train,  animated  by  the  universal  thirst  for 
gold.  At  evening  the  party  camped  upon  the  north 
side  of  Agua  Caliente  Creek,  in  sight  of  the  promised 
land.  "  Slippery  Tim,"  mounted  on  an  aged  mule, 
was  among  the  latest  arrivals,  but  he  did  not  remain 
with  the  miners.  He  went  over  to  the  Indian  settle 
ment. 

These  Indians  were  an  innocent,  peaceable  and 
pious  people  before  civilization  proceeded  to  destroy 
them.  They  had  received  the  Christian  faith  from 
the  earlier  Spanish  missionaries,  but  neglected  in 
more^  recent  times,  their  religion  was  little  more  than 
a  fading  memory,  a  diminishing  inspiration.  Still,  a 
brass  crucifix  in  the  hands  of  a  pious  fraud,  who  could 
recite  the  Pater  Noster,  awakened  the  treasured 
faith,  and  "  Slippery  Tim  "  was  received  with  vener 
ation  and  with  awe.  They  feasted  him  on  roasted 
kid  and  milk,  cracked  wheat  and  acorns,  and  the 
softest  of  their  ox-hide  couches  and  their  most  com 
fortable  adobe  cabin  was  placed  at  his  disposal ;  and 
so  highly  gratified  was  Tim  at  this  Indian  hospitality, 
that  he  decided  to  make  his  home  among  them  ;  and 
with  this  scheme  in  view,  he  made  his  headquarters 
under  a  bowery  in  the  old  vineyard  in  the  shadow  of 
the  mountain.  He  joined  the  prospectors  every  day 
while  the  whisky  held  out,  and  then  settled  per 
manently  in  the  old  vineyard. 

The  famous  "  discovery"  near  Agua  Caliente  was 


188  ERIN  MO.R:    THE   STORY  OF 

very  soon  prospected  and  abandoned.  There  were 
traces  of  gold,  but  nowhere  was  the  yellow  metal 
found  in  paying  quantities.  The  real  purpose  of  the 
organizers  was,  not  to  dig  for  gold,  but  to  sell  whisky ; 
and  with  the  crowds  that  came  to  prospect,  they  did 
a  flourishing  business.  Villainous  mescal  (a  drink 
distilled  from  the  cactus  plant  by  Mexicans)  sold  for 
two  ' '  long  bits,"  that  is  twenty-five  cents  a  drink,  and 
at  the  close  of  the  excitement  the  brace  of  border 
ruffians  who  ran  the  "discovery  "  had  "  cleaned  up" 
more*  than  a  thousand  dollars. 

Dillon,  having  restored  little  Marcellina  to  her 
grandparents,  settled  down  at  Agua  Caliente  for  a 
few  days  rest  at  the  adobe  dwelling  of  old  Francisco, 
the  grandfather.  During  these  days  he  sometimes 
wandered  through  the  vineyard  to  the  mountain  foot, 
and  in  these  wanderings  he  frequently  met  "  Slippery 
Tim,"  who  had  now  become  a  permanent  resident  of 
the  vineyard.  There  was  mutual  recognition,  and 
Tim  reproached  Dillon  as  "a  vile  turn-coat,  a  traitor 
to  Democracy,  to  race  and  religion,"  because  he  had 
declined  to  support  "  Slippery  Tim  "  at  the  Demo 
cratic  caucus  in  Old  Town  ;  and  when  Tim  exposed 
his  teeth  in  that  horrid  grimace  intended  for  a  smile, 
and  snapped  his  watery  eyes  in  the  spirit  of  revenge, 
Dillon  could  not  resist  the  feeling  that  "  Slippery 
Tim"  intended  to  do  him  some  serious  injury. 

One  morning,  as  Dillon  lay  dozing  in  his  adobe 
shanty,  he  was  aroused  by  the  foot-falls  of  horses 
that  suddenly  halted  in  front  of  his  abode.  Slowly 
opening  his  eyes,  he  saw  standing  at  the  foot  of  his 
couch  two  powerful,  brutal-looking  men,  armed  with 
navy  revolvers  and  well-filled  cartridge  belts. 

"Stranger,"  said  one  of  them,  "  we  understand 
that  you  have  been  lookin'  for  us,  and  we  have  been 
lookin'  for  you.  You're  a  detective  revenue  officer, 
you  are.  You  have  got  warrants  for  us,  you  have. 
Let's  see  yer  warrants." 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM. 

"  My  friends,"  said  Dillon,  "  there  is  a  mistake 
somewhere.  I  am  not  a  revenue  officer.  1  have  no 
warrants  for  anybody.  Kindly  tell  me  who  >ou  are, 
and  who  is  your  informant." 

'  We  are  the  gentlemen,  sah,  who  led  the  expe 
dition  from  Julian  to  Agua  Caliente.  We  have  it  on 
the  information  of  a  gentleman — a  high-toned  gentle 
man,  sah — an  Irishman,  sah,  and  a  Democrat,  sah,  and 
of  your  own  religion,  sah — a  man  who  wouldn't  lie 
nor  wrong  his  own  countryman,  sah.  We  learn  from 
him  that^you^are  addicted  to  wearing-  biled  shirts, 
and  won't  drink  whisky  ;  and  you  must  be  a  guva- 
ment  officer,  sah." 

"But,  gentlemen " 

"  Not  a  word,  sah  ;  up  and  out !  "  And  Colonel 
Doniphant  seized  him  by  the  collar,  while  Captain 
Marmaduke  covered  him  with  a  revolver,  and  in  three 
minutes  he  was  mounted  on  a  horse,  strapped  and 
bound  to  the  saddle,  and  hurried  eastward  to  the 
border  of  the  desert. 

There  he  was  confronted  by  "  Slippery  Tim,"  and 
accused  of  being  a  revenue  detective,  on  the  grounds 
that  he  was  "no  Dimocrat,"  and  wore  biled  shirts, 
and  wouldn't  drink  whisky.  Colonel  Doniphant  de 
manded  if  he  had  anything  to  say  before  the  sen 
tence  was  executed. 

"Nothing,"  he  said,  "only  that  the  accusation 
against  me  is  a  lie,  and  the  accuser  a  liar." 

'" Won't  you  say  a  prayer  for  yer  sowl?"  de 
manded  "Slippery  Tim."  "Wouldn't  ye  like  to  die 
in  the^  state  of  grace,  like  a  Christian  and  a  Dimo 
crat  ?"  and  Tim  produced  from  the  revolver  pocket 
of  his  pants  a  beads  with  a  large  brass  crucifix. 
"Down  on  yer  knees  now,  me  lad,"  he  continued, 
"and  I'll  jine  ye  in  a  Father  and  Ave ;"  and  suiting 
the  action  to  the  word,  he  dragged  Dillon  by  the 
collar  to  a  kneeling  position,  and  skinning  his  awful 


190  ERIN  MOB,:     THE   STORY  OF 

teeth,  lifted  his  watery  eyes  to  heaven  in  a  prayer  for 
the  repose  of  Dillon's  soul. 

When  prayers  were  ended  they  bound  him  to  a 
tree  with  thongs  of  raw-hide,  and  left  him,  as  they 
supposed,  to  die.  Before  leaving  him,  however,  ' '  Slip 
pery  Tim "  carefully  searched  his  pockets,  but  was 
unrewarded,  because  Dillon  had  hidden  his  purse 
under  a  boulder  near  Francisco's  adobe  dwelling. 

His  term  of  bondage  was  brief  but  terrible.  The 
warm  southern  sun,  gleaming  through  the  leafless 
limbs  of  the  dead  cottonwood  to  which  he  was  bound, 
and  reflected  by  the  granite  sands,  tortured  his  eyes  ; 
red  ants  innumerable  crawled  up  his  legs  and  over 
his  body;  a  rattle-snake  once  approached  within 
striking  distance  of  him,  but  did  not  strike  ;  and  the 
small,  but  cruel  and  cowardly,  coyotes  congregated 
and  chilled  his  blood  with  their  unearthly  yelping. 
The  lone  dead  cottonwood  tree  to  which  he  was 
bound  stood  in  the  desert  so  close  to  the  mountain 
side  that  he  could  see  the  waters  glistening  in  the 
sun,  as  they  leaped  over  the  rocks  at  the  head  of 
Arroyo,  del  Diabolo  (the  devil's  ravine) ;  and  he 
suffered  with  consuming  thirst,  and  the  raw-hide 
thongs  cut  into  his  swelling  limbs  as  the  cold  night 
succeeded  the  genial  sunny  day.  'Twas  a  night  of 
awful  suffering  and  suspense,  and  he  often  wished 
that  his  enemies  had  shot  him  dead,  rather  than  sub 
ject  him  to  the  slow  and  cruel  torture  that  must  pre 
cede  his  death  upon  the  desert. 

A  beautiful  morning  followed  that  awful  night; 
and  the  sun  rose  in  all  its  southern  splendor,  and 
kissed  the  mountain,  which  smiled  in  return  ;  but  the 
sparkling  rivulet  rushing  down  the  arroya,  as  if  in 
mockery,  sank  in  the  parched  sands  of  the  desert. 
The  coyotes,  emboldened  by  his  helplessness,  were 
snapping  at  his  feet,  and  strong,  black  vultures  swept 
down  from  the  mountains  and  hovered  above  him, 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  191 

perching  at  times  upon  the  dead  limbs  of  the  dry 
cottonwood  above  his  head,  awaiting  an  anticipated 
feast. 

And  he  prayed  to  God  for  mercy  on  his  soul ;  and 
he  struggled  with  his  right  hand  with  superhuman 
effort  to  strike  his  breast,  while  his  parched  lips  ut 
tered  the  "Mea  culpa,  mea  culpa,  mea  maxima  culpa;" 
and  somehow — by  a  miracle,  perhaps,  for  God  is 
everywhere,  and  omnipotent — he  felt  a  loosening  of 
the  thong  that  bound  his  right  arm,  and  another 
effort  to  strike  his  breast  released  the  worshipping 
hand.  A  minute  later  he  was  free.  He  staggered 
in  the  direction  of  the  waterfall,  slaked  his  thirst, 
and  stretching  himself  upon  a  shelving  rock,  was 
soon  in  a  deep  sleep. 

And  the  setting  sun  was  sinking  beyond  the  summit 
of  the  San  Bernardino  Mountains,  to  the  west,  when 
he  opened  his  eyes  to  meet  the  pitying  gaze  of  the 
child  Marcellina,  who  had  sat  beside  him  as  he  slept, 
while  the  patriarch  Francisco,  gun  in  hand,  stood 
beside  a  pair  of  ponies  higher  up  in  the  arroya. 
They  had  not  seen  him  forced  away  from  their  cabin, 
but,  suspecting  foul  play,  had  started  on  the  trail, 
and  traveling  across  the  mountain  had  tracked  h'im 
to  the  desert. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

AMONG   CALIFORNIA   INDIANS. 

HE  Indian  village  of  Agua  Caliente  is 
situated  near  a  creek  that  runs  along  the 
northern  border  of  the  great  valley  now 
known  as  Warner's  ranch.  The  cabin 
of  old  Francisco  occupied  a  command 
ing  position  upon  a  strip  of  elevated  table  land  above 
the  bed  of  the  creek.  Almost  perpendicularly  the 
Vulcan  Mountain  lifts  its  giant  head  between  the 
cabin  and  the  desert.  Mount  Palomar,  with  its  ver 
dant  slopes,  deep  ravines,  broad  table  lands  and  dark 
green  forests,  bounds  the  great  valley  on  the  west, 
and  southward  lie  the  foot-hills  of  the  Mesa  Grande. 
Northwestward  only  seemed  there  to  be  a  break  in 
the  mountain  chain  surrounding  the  immense  depres 
sion.  In  this  direction,  at  the  close  of  day,  the  eyes 
of  the  old  Indian  were  directed,  following  the  set 
ting  sun,  whose  rays  created  in  the  meadows  and 
grain  fields  a  succession  of  lights  and  shades,  and 
lighted  up  the  shallow  streams  into  sheets  of  polished 
silver.  And  oh!  the  sunsets  in  these  southern 
mountains;  and  oh!  the  brief  and  blissful  twilight 
that  cools  and  charms  in  this  sultry  clime  ;  and  oh ! 
the  myriad  stars  of  the  ideal  nights,  and  the  soft 
winds  that  whisper  through  the  tall  cottonwoods  be 
side  the  stream,  and  the  sweet  and  sleepful  nights 
that  follow  the  brilliant  days.  The  southern  morn 
ing  is  too  bright  and  brief.  There  is  the  gray  twi 
light  of  fifteen  minutes  duration  that  separates  the 
night  from  day  ;  and  suddenly  the  sun  appears  above 
the  mountain  top  in  all  the  dazzling  splendor  of  a 
northern  summer  noon. 

At  sunrise   the   Indian  maids  and  mothers  were 
down  at  the  washing  stones — a  laundry  which  Nature 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  193 

had  kindly  created  for  them.  Ridges  of  granite  rise 
above  the  water  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  and 
the  washer-women  sit  astride  these  ridges,  leaving 
one  foot  in  the  cold  water,  and  washing  their  clothes 
in  the  hot  water  that  runs  at  the  other  side  of  the 
rocky  ridge  from  the  hot  springs  that  gush  from  the 
bed  of  the  creek.  Near  the  bank  of  the  creek,  upon 
a  huge  granite  boulder,  sits  old  Marcellina,  wife  of 
the  aged  Francisco,  pulverizing  acorns  into  flour, 
using  a  heavy  oblong  stone  for  a  pestle  and  a  hollow 
in  the  great  rock  for  a  mortar.  Down  along  the 
stream  the  Indian  men  are  planting  their  corn 
patches,  or  milking  cows,  or  driving  flocks  of  goats 
into  the  foot-hills. 

Above  the  hot  springs,  and  between  them  and  the 
mountain  foot,  lay  the  orchard  and  the  vineyard  of 
the  Indian  settlement.  It  was  common  property. 
It  is  watered  by  many  springs  and  rivulets,  and  shel 
tered  by  the  mountain  which  rises  abruptly  above  it, 
so  steep  and  lofty  that  the  tall  pines  upon  its  summit 
seem  no  larger  than  corn-stalks  to  eyes  that  behold 
them  from  the  valley.  For  more  than  half  a  century 
that  land  had  been  cultivated  by  the  Indians.  There 
was  a  precious  growth  of  grape-vines,  prunes  and 
peaches,  and  a  pear  orchard  old  as  the  nineteenth 
century.  A  thousand  feet  higher  than  the  level  of 
this  orchard,  midway  between  it  and  the  summit  of 
the  mountain,  there  was.  a  green  patch  containing 
perhaps  ten  acres,  but  seeming  from  the  valley  no 
larger  than  a  billiard  table.  On  the  border  of  this 
mountain  oasis,  a  tiny  stream,  a  tributary  of  Agua 
Caliente  Creek,  leaped  over  the  rocks  and  glistened 
in  the  morning  sun.  Above  this  green  table-land 
the  mountain  pines  nodded  in  the  morning  breeze. 
Some  adventurous  Indian  boys  had  climbed  to  that 
delightful  spot  when  rounding  up  the  flocks  of  goats, 
but  so  far  as  anybody  knew,  no  white  man  had 

13 


194  ERIN   MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

hitherto  attempted  the  toilsome  journey.  Upon  that 
green  spot,  high  up  on  the  Vulcan  Mountain,  Dillon 
concluded  to  make  his  home.  "  There,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "  I  will  be  secure  from  association  with  poli 
ticians.  No  ward  rounder  of  the  Democratic  party 
would  ever  be  tempted  to  that  spot  by  the  vote  of  a 
solitary  Irishman." 

His  intention  as  to  making  his  home  upon  the 
mountain  side  having  been  fully  settled,  he  resolved 
to  consult  Francisco,  the  patriarch  of  the  tribe.  Fran 
cisco's  venerable  limbs  still  trod  their  native  heath  in 
eloquent  dissent  from  the  usages  of  civilization.  In 
stinctively,  but  unconsciously,  he  was  a  Democrat  of 
the  Democrats.  He  had  seen  the  beginning  of  the 
nineteenth  century.  The  United  States  of  America 
had  grown  from  a  feeble  nation  of  five  millions  to  a 
great  nation  of  forty  millions.  Map  makers  had 
changed  the  boundary  lines  of  almost  every  nation 
in  Europe  since  he  was  a  boy.  The  American  slave 
had  been  emancipated,  the  serfs  of  Russia  had  been 
freed,  the  steamship  and  the  telegraph  and  the  tele 
phone  had  been  invented  or  applied.  Political  par 
ties  had  arisen  and  had  fallen,  human  hands  had  been 
carving  the  Sierra  Nevadas,  and  cattle  pastures  had 
become  cities,  and  wild  wastes  had  been  converted 
into  factory  towns ;  but  to  all  these  changes  Francisco 
was  indifferent.  The  music  of  a  glorious  American 
nationality  awakened  in  his  bosom  no  sympathetic 
chord.  He  was  a  "natural  Democrat" — just  as 
"natural"  as  if  he  had  first  opened  his  eyes  in  the 
wilds  of  Conemara.  He  would  not  wear  pantaloons. 
He  was  a  giant  in  stature  ;  and  Nature  had  nowhere 
reproduced  him  among  his  tribe.  His  skinny  limbs 
were  larger  than  the  fattest  legs  of  the  present  gene 
ration.  He  would  sit  upon  a  great  rock,  within  easy 
distance  of  the  village  school,  to  the  great  scandal  of 
the  Indian  senoritas,  and  to  the  horror  of  the  pious 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  195 

fody  teacher  from  Washington  City.  He  would 
make  himself  conspicuous;  if  not  agreeable,  in  a  circle 
of  native  maidens,  or  stalk  unconcernedly  into  the 
dwellings  of  the  white  visitors  at  the  springs.  All 
efforts  to  clothe  him  in  pantaloons  had  invariably 
failed.  The  good  ladies  of  the  Indian  aid  society  at 
Philadelphia  had  sent  him  an  assortment  of  pants ; 
but  no  effort  on  the  part  of  their  agent  could  seduce 
him  from  his  lofty  devotion  to  an  idea.  The  lady 
teacher,  deeply  veiled  in  a  cotton  apron,  had  often  ap 
proached  him,  pantaloons  in  hand,  but  she  could  not 
make  him  waver  in  his  devotion  to  his  own  political 
economy,  the  gospel  of  consistency.  Protective  tar 
iffs  fell  powerless  at  his  feet.  He  remained  faithful 
to  his  faith  in  naked  limbs,  and  to  the  day  of  his 
death  he  continued  a  shining  example  of  the  boasted 
virtue  of  consistency. 

Dillon  consulted  this  venerable  man  and,  his  aged 
wife,  Marcellina,  in  relation  to  building  upon  "the 
green  spot  on  the  mountain  side. 

"Manana"  said  Francisco,  '"to-morrow."  They 
do  all  things  on  to-morrow  in  that  lazy  dime;  and 
to-morrow  they  would  lend  their  grandson  Pedro  to 
guide  him  up  the  mountain  side. 

And  on  the  morning  of  the  morrow,  at  sunrise, 
Dillon  and  his  guide  clambered  up  the  winding  path 
leading  over  fissures,  rocks,  gulches  and  array  as  to 
Erin  Beg  (Little  Ireland),  as  Dillon  affectionately 
called  it.  There,  with  the  assistance  of  Indian 
friends,  he  built  him  a  neat  log  shanty,  with  stone 
fire-place  and  chimney  ;  and  provided  with  arms  and 
provisions,  and  a  small  flock  of  kids  and  goats, 
settled  down  in  his  mountain  home.  Copying  the 
rude  agriculture  of  his  Indian  neighbors,  he  planted 
him  a  garden  of  peas,  potatoes,  and  other  vegetables 
in  a  rich  delta  of  pulverized  granite  soil  formed  by 
the  freshets  of  converging  rills;  and  with  his  rifle,  his 


196  EREN   MOR:    THE   STORY   OF 

dog  and  his  goats,  and  a  few  books,  be  was  happy 
amid  the  charms  of  solitude.  He  next  proceeded  to 
build  him  a  reservoir  by  constructing  a  rude  stone 
dam  at  the  outlet  of  a  very  narrow,  deep  ravine, 
through  which  a  mountain  streamlet  poured,  and 
when  the  summer  suns  threatened  to  parch  his  grow 
ing  vegetables,  he  conducted  this  water  in  irrigating 
ditches  to  the  miniature  garden  on  the  delta.  He 
enjoyed  a  magnificent  view  of  the  great  ranch  and 
the  mountain  foot-hills  from  Palomar  to  Mesa 
Grande.  He  could  see  the  tree  tops  and  the  vines 
in  the  old  orchard  beneath  him ;  on  summer  evenings 
he  could  see  the  flocks  of  goats  and  sheep  gather  for 
their  nightly  rest  on  the  hillocks  at  the  Indian  dwell 
ings  in  the  valley,  and  in  the  stillness  of  the  summer 
nights  he  could  hear  the  barking  of  the  dogs  in  the 
settlement ;  but  except  by  occasional  visits  Irom  the 
boy  Pedro,  grandson  of  Francisco,  he  suffered  no 
disturbance  from  the  human  race.  He  had  ample 
scope  for  the  play  of  his  imagination  and  deep  indulg 
ence  in  dreams.  So  he  dreamt  in  the  day-time, 
in  waking  dreams  ;  and  while  his  body  slept,  the 
sleepless  soul  took  up  the  thread  of  mind,  and  carried 
him  back  in  fancy  to  the  fields  of  his  youth  and  the 
scenes  of  his  sufferings,  and  his  spiritual  eye  dwelt 
upon  lovely  visions  of  his  Erin  Mor — his  Greater 
Ireland  that  was  to  be. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

"BLESSED  ARE  THE  MERCIFUL." 

> 

HE  feast  of  St.  John,  the  24th  of  June, 
is  the  day  of  days  among  the  Christian 
Indians  of  Southern  California.  There 
was  joyous  anticipation  at  Agua  Cali- 
ente.  Ground  was  selected,  the  stakes 
were  set,  and  a  commodious  bowery  erected,  crowned 
with  the  greenest  boughs  of  the  forest.  1hz  padre 
from  San  Diego  was  expected  to  be  present,  and 
Indian  mothers  devoutly  bathed  their  babies  in  the 
waters  of  Agua  Caliente,  preparing  them  for  the  sac 
rament  of  baptism  ;  but  deep  was  the  disappoint 
ment  when  on  the  morning  of  the  fiesta  it  was 
announced  that  titiefadre  would  not  come.  Deprived 
of  its  religious  features,  the  fiesta  at  Agua  Caiiente 
degenerated  into  a  country  fair.  There -was  spirited 
horse  racing,  dancing  to  the  music  of  the  guitar  and 
violin,  and  the  dusky  youths  circled  the  dark-eyed 
maidens  in  the  poetry  of  motion  bequeathed  to  these 
Indians  by  the  Spanish  caballeros  in  the  brave  days 
of  old.  There  was  gambling  galore.  "One-eyed 
Jake,"  a  Missourian  homArroya  del  Diabolo,  brought 
over  a  keno  outfit,  and  the  Indians  themselves,  libe 
rally  provided  with  poker  cards,  sat  around  in  shady 
places,  where  everybody,  men  and  women,  young 
and  old,  took  a  hand  in  Mexican  poker. 

Andy  Dillon  started  from  his  mountain  cabin  in 
the  morning  to  join  in  the  celebration.  His  heroism 
in  rescuing  little  Marcellina  had  been  reported  and 
been  praised  in  every  Indian  home  through  Southern 
California,  and  he  was  everywhere  a  welcome  guest. 
Coming  down  the  mountain  side,  a  mile  or  so  above 
the  old  orchard,  he  noticed,  some  fifty  paces  from 
his  path,  a  heap  of  clay  thrown  up  from  an  excava- 


198  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

tion.    Approaching  the  spot,  he  discovered  an  oblong 
pit,  six  or  seven  feet  in  length,  unmistakeably  a  grave, 
with   a  spade  and  shovel   placed  in  the  form  of  a 
crucifix  across  it,  after  the  manner  of  Christendom. 
He  was  not  a  little  surprised,  for  he  knew  that  the 
Indians   had   their  consecrated   cemetery,   and   that 
there  were  no  other  persons  interred  in  that  vicinity ; 
but  he  resolved  to  keep  his  own  counsel  and  await 
developments.   On  reaching  the  bowery  of  the  fiesta^ 
imagine  his  astonishment  when  he  beheld  "  Slippery 
Tim"  engaged  in  a  game  of  draw-poker  with  "One- 
eyed  Jake"  and  "The  Bald-headed  Snipe  of  Mount 
Palomar."     Slippery  Tim  had  disappeared  after  the 
att  mpted  murder  in  the  desert,  but  had  returned  to 
Agua  Caliente  on  a  business  mission.     A  few  days 
preceding  the  June  fiesta,  he  appeared  at  the  old 
orchard  with  a  pair  of  burros,  laden  with  provisions, 
and  in  the  wealth  of  fire-arms  he  was  a  walking  ar 
senal.      He  " jumped  "  the  Indian  orchard,  and  took 
possession  of  it  as  a  homestead  under  color  of  United 
States  law.      He  had  barricaded  the  adobe  dwelling 
on  the  premises,  and  stood,  if  necessary,  prepared 
for  a  siege;  but  finding  that  the  Indians  did  not  risk 
their  lives  in  an  effort  to  oust  him,  and  animated  by 
the  greed   of  gain,  he  joined  the  gamblers  at  the 
fiesta,  armed  only  with  a  pair  of  navy  revolvers  and 
a  long-bladed  bowie-knife.     A  little  after  night-fall 
Dillon  retired  with  the  venerable  Francisco  to  that 
patriarch's  home,  and  after  feasting  on  roasted  kid, 
green  peas  and  goat's  milk,  lay  down  upon  his  ox 
hide  for  the  night. 

Sometime  after  the  hour  of  midnight  the  Francisco 
household  was  startled  by  a  vigorous  barking  of  the 
dogs,  and  this  noise  seeming  to  be  echoed  all  along 
the  valley,  the  old  man  and  his  wife  arose  and  went 
out  into  the  night.  Dillon  hastily  dressed  and 
followed  them.  A  group  of  dark  figures,  twenty  or 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  199 

thirty  in  number,  stood  near  the  trunk  of  a  massive 
live  oak  in  quiet  but  earnest  debate.  As  he  ap 
proached  the  tree  and  heard  the  voices  speaking  the 
mongrel  Spanish  of  the  tribe,  he  knew  they  were 
Indians  ;  but  there  was  one  white  man  among  them, 
and  as  the  waning  moon  shed  its  soft  light  upon  the 
face  of  the  white  man,  he  recognized  the  livid  face 
of  "Slippery  Tim,"  with  its  affrighted  eyes  and  gap 
ing  mouth.  The  Indians  had  permitted  him  to  enjoy 
the  fun  and  gambling  at  the  fiesta,  but  had  resolved 
on  the  morning  of  the  feast  to  hang  him,  and  had 
already  dug  his  grave  in  the  glen  upon  the  mountain 
foot  Dillon  took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance,  and 
hastily  advanced  to  the  outer  edge  of  the  crowd. 
Being  recognized,  he  was  greeted  with  a  "Bravo, 
Senorf  bravo, amigo!"  The  culprit  produced  his  beads 
as  a  certificate  of  Christian  character,  and  also  a  letter 
with  the  request  that  his  friends,  whose  address  the 
letter  contained,  be  advised  of  his  death.  The  Indian 
leader  handed  the  letter  to  Dillon.  It  was  dated  at 
'  New  Limerick,  Connecticut,"  was  addressed  to 
'My  Beloved  Brother,  Francis  Xavier,"  and  signed 
"  Birdelia  Devoy,"  though  the  envelope  bore  the 
address:  " Timothy  Devereaux,  Bloody  Gulch, 
Arizona." 

The  mind  of  Dillon  immediately  reverted  to  the 
sweet  singer  at  Julian,  and  the  injunction,  "  You'll 
remember  me,"  was  realized.  Memory  connected 
the  faces  at  New  Limerick  with  the  face  of  Tim. 
The  voice  of  the  culprit  was  the  voice  of  Birdelia, 
and  the  face  was  Nature's  reproduction  of  Birdelia's 
lamented  father,  Barney  Devoy. 

While  Andy  thus  reflected,  the  Indians  had  lifted 
their  prisoner  upon  a  granite  rock,  and  one  of  them 
had  fastened  the  rope  upon  a  limb  of  the  live  oak, 
and  had  dropped  the  noose  end  so  that  it  dangled 
before  the  face  of  the  victim.  A  nimble  youth 


200  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

mounted  the  rock  and  adjusted  the  hempen  neck-tie 
around  the  throat  of  Francis  Xavier  Devoy  (for  it 
was  he),  and  two  others  approached  with  arms  ex 
tended  to  push  him  from  the  rock  into  eternity,  when 
Dillon  pressed  between  them  and  the  victim,  arid 
lifting  his  hand  and  raising  his  voice,  begged  his 
Indian  friends  to  listen  to  him.  The  half-breed 
Miguel  acted  as  interpreter. 

^  "  My  dear  frientfs,"  said  Dillon,  "  you  are  a  Chris 
tian  people.  Do  not  stain  your  souls  with  the  blood 
of  this  man.  'Blessed  are  the  merciful,  for  they 
shall  obtain  mercy,'  are  the  words  of  the  Savior, 
whom  you  hope  to  meet  in  heaven." 

:'No,  no,  no;  it  is  no  murder.  He  is  a  robber; 
and  since  the  Great  Father  will  not  protect  us,  we 
will  protect  ourselves.  Hang  him  !  hang  him  !  let 
him  swing !  "  was  repeated  by  several  voices. 

"Now  listen,  brothers,"  said  Dillon.  "I  saved 
your  little  Senorita  Marcellina  at  the  risk  of  my  life, 
did  I  not?" 

"Sz,si,  Senor;  bravo,  Senorf" 

"  Then  be  patient  with  me.  Be  merciful,  as  you 
hope  for  mercy." 

"  No,  no  ;  he  is  a  robber.  He  would  rob  us  of 
the  trees  planted  by  our  grandfathers.  Let  him  die." 

"  But  it  is  murder,  my  friends." 

"  No,  no  ;  it  is  no  murder.  There  is  no  law  to 
protect  us  Indians.  It  is  not  murder  to  protect  our 
selves." 

^  "And  are  you  willing  to  face  the  jugdment  seat  of 
God  with  this  man's  blood  upon  your  head?" 

"  St,  si,  Senor.  He  is  a  robber ;  to  hang  him  is 
no  sin." 

"Yes,  my  dear  friends;  but  you  know  he  is  a 
very  great  sirrner,  do  you  not  ?  " 

They  laughed  an  ironical  laugh,  and  admitted  that 
he  was. 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  201 

"  Very  well ;  if  you  hang  "  Slippery  Tim,"  he  will 
die  in  mortal  sin,  unforgiven.  He  will  be  damned, 
and  you  will  be  damned  for  sending  him  to  eternity 
in  a  state  of  sin."  '  . 

This  last  argument  caused  them  to  hesitate.  The 
leaders  retired  for  consultation,  and  concluded  not  to 
hang  him.  They  would  be  satisfied  to  scourge  him 
and  let  him  go,  and  for  this  purpose  they  tore  off  his 
"  Roman  collar  "  and  his  clerical  garb,  and  exposed 
his  body  naked  upward  from  the  waist ;  for  Tim  was 
sans  chemise. 

"No,  my  dear  friends,"  said  Dillon,  "you  must 
not  scourge  him.  He  is  one  against  fifty.  You 
know  that  he  assisted  in  an  effort  to  murder  me. 
Now,  leave  him  to  me." 

They  knew  the  circumstances  of  the  attempted 
murder,  and  took  Dillon's  "  Leave  him  to  me  "as  an 
intimation  that  he  himself  desired  to  punish  him; 
and  as  the  rescued  and  the  rescuer  moved  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  mountain,  the  Indians  dispersed  to 
their  homes  down  the  valley,  with  a  parting  good 
night  and  a  "Bravo,  Senor  !  bravo,  amigo  /" 

The  two  Irishmen  toiled  up  the  mountain  path, 
and  reached  the  log-cabin  in  the  gray  hours  of  the 
morning.  Dillon  with  his  own  hands  bathed  the 
wasted,  trembling  body  of  his  would-be  murderer  ; 
dried  and  chafed  him  with  the  tenderness  of  a 
mother ;  and  having  roasted  a  joint  of  fatted  kid 
upon  a  spit  before  a  fire  of  blazing  logs,  he  pressed 
the  unfortunate  Tim  to  eat,  and  eat  Tim  did  with  a 
will.  Dillon  dressed  him  in  a  flannel  shirt  and  a 
coat  of  tweed  (the  only  coat  he  possessed);  and  the 
gilding  of  the  sky  far  east  above  the  desert  indicated 
the  approach  of  day  as  he  led  him  back  adown  the 
mountain  and  across  the  great  ranch  to  the  Mesa 
Grande  trail  that  led  to  the  Julian  and  San  Diego 
road. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

TEN  YEARS  OF  SOLITUDE. 

P'T  was  high  noon  when  Dillon  returned  to 
his  mountain  home,  and  it  sorely  grieved 
and  disappointed  him  to  discover  that  his 
potato  patch  upon  the  delta  had  been 
washed  out  of  existence.  A  stone  in  the 
dam  of  the  reservoir  had  given  way,  and  the  water, 
rushing  down  in  a  torrent,  had  not  only  swept  away 
his  potato  vines,  but  had  also  washed  away  the  earth, 
so  that  the  granite  rock  was  laid  bare.  For  a  few 
moments  he  gazed  regretfully  on  the  wreck,  when 
something  glistening  on  the  naked  rock  attracted  his 
attention.  He  picked  up  a  shining  pebble.  It  was 
rough  and  black,  with  specks  of  brightness,  like  the 
sunbeams  in  a  summer  shower  peeping  through  a 
dark  cloud.  Scraping  the  outer  surface  with  his 
knife  exposed  more  of  the  shining  substance,  and 
industrious  effort  revealed  a  solid  little  lump  of  yellow 
metal,  which,  when  compared  with  a  five-dollar  coin, 
proved  with  reasonable  certainty  to  be  gold.  He 
repeated  the  experiment  upon  another  and  another 
of  the  pebbles  with  the  same  result,  and  arrived  at 
the  true  conclusion  that  he  was  the  owner  of  a  placer 
gold  mine.  Taking  a  whisk-broom  from  his  satchel 
he  patiently  swept  the  naked  rock,  gathering  in  dust 
and  pebbles,  the  full  of  a  quart  tin  cup.  This  he 
carefully  washed  again  and  again,  successfully  re 
moving  all  particles  of  sand ;  but  there  was  mingled 
with  the  gold  some  black  sandy  mineral  substance, 
which  he  could  remove  only  by  actually  picking  the 
gold  particles  out  of  it.  This  he  found  so  tedious 
and  difficult  that  he  abandoned  the  task  of  separation. 
He  dried  his  treasure  on  a  tin  plate  in  the  sun,  sewed 
it  into  the  pocket  of  his  vest,  and  resolved  upon  a 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  203 

journey  to  Los  Angeles,  that  he  might  formally 
enter  his  homestead  at  the  government  land  office. 

Arriving  at  Los  Angeles,  he  first  entered  his 
homestead  at  the  land  office,  and  then  proceeded  to 
the  office  of  an  assayer,  where  he  received  the  assur 
ance  that  his  yellow  sand  was  gold. 

"This  dark  stuff,"  said  the  assayer,  "is  cassi- 
terite." 

"And  what  is  cassiterite?"  inquired  the  dis 
coverer. 

" Cassiterite,"  replied  the  assayer,  "is  stream  tin — • 
the  dust  of  tin.  You  will  find  that  mineral  some 
where,  at  a  higher  level,  near  where  you  found  this 
gold.  It  may  be  of  little  value  now,  but  some  day 
the  people  of  this  country  will  make  their  own  tin- 
plates,  for  there  is  little  doubt  that  somewhere  in 
America  the  block  tin  will  yet  be  found ;  and  of 
course  we  have  the  iron  for  the  plates,  and  the  lime 
stone  and  the  coal,  and  labor  and  skill.  I  hope 
you'll  strike  it." 

Having  separated  his  gold  from  the  cassiterite,  by 
a  process  known  to  the  assayer,  he  converted  it  into 
cash  and  started  for  his  home,  returning  by  way  of 
San  Diego.  There  he  made  a  small  investment  in 
land,  purchasing  a  five-acre  piieblo  lot  adjacent  to  the 
great  park  reservation  of  the  future  city.  Having 
purchased  a  shovel,  pick,  pan  and  light  crowbar,  he 
resumed  his  journey,  returning  by  way  of  the  Rancho 
Santa  Ysabel,  and  across  the  delightful  highlands  of 
Mesa  Grande.  That  region  was  to  him  a  veritable  won 
derland — a  valley  soil  with  a  mountain  climate,  rich  in 
wild  oats  and  grasses,  with  deep  dark  soil  in  the 
valleys,  and  forests  of  various  hardwoods  clothing 
the  mountains  to  their  very  summits.  Streams  of  the 
purest  water  bubbled  everywhere  out  of  the  mount 
ain  slopes,  and  traversed  in  streamlets  his  roadway 
through  the  winding  valleys  over  which  he  passed. 


204  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

Pioneer  settlers  and  Indians  were  cultivating  garden 
patches,  or  planting-  orchards  of  pears,  peaches, 
cherries  and  apricots  ;  and  the  tender  sprouts  of  the 
young  vineyards  were  occasionally  seen  on  the  hill 
sides.  Miners,  too,  were  making  "prospect  holes," 
for  gold  had  been  discovered  at  Mesa  Grande ;  but  he 
did  not  halt  to  investigate.  One  gold  mine  at  a  time 
was  enough  for  him.  Returning  to  the  homestead, 
he  repaired  and  staunched  his  reservoir  dam,  and 
constructed  a  flume  from  the  reservoir  to  the  delta. 
Patiently  he  labored,  day  after  day,  for  more  than  a 
year,  until  he  had  washed  out  the  delta,  and  gathered 
from  the  naked  bed-rock  a  mixture  of  gold  dust  and 
cassiterite  sufficient  to  fill  his  water  pail ;  and  when 
time  hung  heavily  on  his  hands,  he  labored  around 
the  margin  of  the  garden,  sifted  and  re-washed  the 
soil  at  a  lower  level ;  but  having  exhausted  the 
"  pocket "  at  the  delta,  hisjabors  were  subsequently 
fruitless.  During  ten  years  of  patient  prospecting, 
he  never  was  rewarded  by  another  ounce  of  gulch  gold. 
As  a  matter  of  curiosity,  rather  than  the  hope  of 
gain,  he  prospected  for  tin  and  found  it.  Starting 
above  the  dam,  he  traced  particles  of  the  cassiterite 
to  the  outlet  of  a  very  deep  and  narrow  fissure. 
Entering  at  the  base  of  this  fissure,  he  dislodged  a 
portion  of  the  rock,  and  was  satisfied,  from  the  ap 
pearance  of  the  broken  edge,  that  he  had  discovered 
tin.  In  due  time  he  sent  this  rock  to  San  Francisco 
to  be  tested,  and  was  gratified  with  the  information 
that  his  rock  contained  some  six  per  cent  of  tin. 
Following  his  discovery  wherever  deep  gorges  af 
forded  him  an  opportunity  of  reaching  a  low  level 
without  sinking  a  shaft,  he  found  the  same  indications 
at  many  places  upon  his  homestead,  and  concluded 
his  labors  with  the  gratifying  assurance  that  he  was 
the  owner  of  a  tin  mine.  This  discovery  he  resolved 
to  keep  secret  until  he  had  perfected  title  to  the  land, 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  205 

and  this  he  did  at  the  close  of  the  five  years  that  must 
intervene  between  the  entry  and  the  final  proof. 

He  had  at  last  completed  ten  long  years  in  soli 
tude.  He  had  neither  written  nor  received  a  per 
sonal  letter  in  all  these  weary  years.  Two  presi 
dential  elections  had  been  fought  and  won,  but  he  did 
not  know  even  the  names  of  the  Presidents  elected, 
for  he  held  no  communication  with  white  men,  and 
he  did  not  read  the  newspapers.  His  library  con 
sisted  of  a  prayer  book,  a  bible,  a  pocket  dictionary, 
a  copy  of  Shakespeare,  Victor  Hugo's  " Les  Miser- 
ables"  in  French,  and  the  "  Irish  Melodies  "  of  Moore. 
These  books  he  delighted  to  read,  and  he  read  them 
until  they  were  thumb-worm. 

Many  a  time  and  often  he  exclaimed:  "Oh,  what 
blessed  things  are  books!"  Far  from  civilization  and 
from  friends,  debarred  from  contact  with  living  minds 
and  speaking  tongues,  he  jould  retire  into  his  cabin 
at  night,  and  by  the  light  of  a  pine-knot  or  a  tallow 
candle  he  could  enter  into  communication  with  the 
spirits  of  many  of  the  greatest  minds,  from  Moses  to 
Moore — minds  that  appealed  to  the  loftiest  aspira 
tions  of  his  soul,  and  neither  deceived  him,  betrayed 
him,  nor  belied  him. 

One  day  he  went  to  buy  provisions  at  the  store  on 
Warner's  ranch,  three  miles  from  Agua  Caliente.  A 
post-office  had  been  there  established.  The  thirst  for 
intelligence  overcame  him,  and  he  begged  the  post 
master  for  a  newspaper.  That  courteous  official  was 
more  than  generous.  He  gave  him  as  many  as  fifty 
newspapers — papers  that  had  remained  uncalled  for  in 
the  office,  belonging"  to  various  persons,  and  cover 
ing  a  period  of  several  years.  He  bundled  them  into 
a  gunny-sack,  and  on  his  return  home  sat  down  for  a 
feast  of  news.  Among  the  hundreds  of  items  and 
articles  that  surprised,  displeased  or  delighted  him, 
three  or  four  especially  filled  him  with  astonishment. 


206  ERIN   MOR:-    THE   STORY   OF 

He  learned  with  joy  that  the  unhappy  period  of  re 
construction  had  been  passed,  that  the  Southern 
people  were  in  full  control  of  their  State  governments  ; 
and  his  soul  was  filled  with  gratitude,  for  he  would 
not  malse  an  Ireland  of  the  South. 

He  also  read  that  Horace  Greeley  had  been  the 
Democratic  candidate  for  President.  Mirabile  dictu. 

And  he  learned  that  an  alien  church  establishment, 
which  had  fattened  on  the  blood  and  sweat  of  Catho 
lic  Ireland  for  two  hundred  years,  had  been  disestab 
lished  by  an  English  act  of  Parliament,  and  that 
William  Ewart  Gladstone,  a  former  persecutor  of 
Ireland,  was  the  emancipator. 

And  he  learned  that  the  old  green  land,  which  he 
had  left  apparently  lifeless  as  "a  corpse  on  a  dissect 
ing  table,"  was  up  again  battling  in  a  land  war  against 
the  hereditary  lords  of  the  soil  in  Ireland. 

And  he  discovered  tha^  a  great  political  leader  by 
the  name  of  Cleveland,  a  person  of  whom  he  had 
never  hitherto  heard,  had  arisen  as  the  champion  of 
English  manufacture  and  commerce  in  America. 
^  And  he  also  learned  that  the  Cobden  Club,  an 
English  organization,  had  been  naturalized  in  New 
York,  and  had  commenced  an  active  propaganda  for 
the  purpose  of  deciding  national  and  congressional 
elections  in  the  United  States  in  the  interest  of 
England. 

And  another  item  set  his  blood  in  motion.  It  was 
to  the  effect  that  the  dry  bones  of  his  Erin  Mor 
were  assuming  flesh  and  blood,  and  that  at  San 
Francisco  and'Chicago,  and  other  cities,  Irish- Amer 
icans  were  actually  organizing  in  the  interest  of 
America  to  do  battle  for  American  industry  against 
the  free-trade  policy  of  England! 

And  he  knelt  upon  the  granite  rock  in  the  shadow 
of  the  mountain  pines,  and  his  heart  and  soul  and 
eyes  were  turned  in  thankfulness  to  God,  that  some 


**'" 

1EISH  REPUBLICANISM.  207 

Irishmen  at  last  had  seen  their  duty,  and  had  the 
moral  courage  to  do  it ;  and  there  was  at  last  a  breach 
in  that  solid  Irish  vote  which  for  thirty  years  had 
been  the  Northern  garrison  of  the  slave  power  and 
the  chattel  property  of  brutality  and  blackguardism 
in  the  cities  of  the  North. 

"And  man,"  he  said,  "  was  made  to  move  as  well 
as  'to  mourn';  there  is  a  free  fight  ahead.  The  con 
flict  will  be  long  and  bitter.  England  will  make  a 
desperate  effort  to  control  the  commerce  of  this  con 
tinent,  especially  the  markets  of  the  United  States. 
By  every  sacred  impulse  that  animates  the  heart  of 
man  ;  by  every  consideration  of  enlightened  selfish 
ness  ;  by  the  memories  of  the  past  and  the  hopes  of 
the  future,  the  enlightened  manhood  of  the  Irish  in 
America  must  stand  by  America  in  the  battle  for 
industrial  independence." 

He  gathered  up  his  scanty  baggage  and  his  sack 
of  gold  dust,  and  descended  the  mountain,  bound  for 
San  Francisco. 

Before  his  departure  he  had,  as  he  believed,  one 
duty  to  perform.  Little  Marcellina  was  now  a  girl 
of  thirteen.  He  desired  that  she  should  have  a 
proper  secular  and  religious  education,  and  with  the 
consent  of  her  grandparents,  and  of  the  good  padre 
at  San  Diego,  she  was  sent  to  a  convent  school  at 
Los  Angeles. 

Dillon  took  his  departure  for  the  North  on  one  of 
those  splendid  steamers  that  ply  along  the  coast  be 
tween  San  Diego  and  San  Francisco. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

M  ATTEMPTED  CONQUEST  OF  AMERICA. 
N  the  summer  of  1879,  Mr.  Thomas  Bayley 
Potter,  Secretary  of  the  Cobden  Club, 
%*t^  visited  the  United  States  officially.  The 
"\4^  Cobden  Club,  which  he  represented,  has  its 
' x  headquarters  in  London,  England.  At  the 
time  of  Mr.  Potter's  visit,  the  club  numbered  among 
its  members  eleven  of  the  fourteen  cabinet  members 
of  the  British  government,  and  two  hundred  of  the 
six  hundred  members  of  the  British  House  of  Com 
mons.  Its  avowed  object  was  the  extension  of 
English  commerce,  and  the  special  object  of  Mr. 
Bayley  Potter's  visit  was  to  inaugurate  ah  active 
propaganda  for  the  breaking  down  of  the  American 
tariff  system  in  the  interest  of  free  trade  with  Eng 
land.  Mr.  Bayley  Potter  was 

"  The  mildest  mannered  man 
That  ever  scuttled  ship  or  cut  a  throat/' 

He  was  willing  to  compromise  with  America. 
"We  don't  object,  you  know,  to  a  five  or  ten  per 
cent  tariff,  you  know  ;  but  this  beastly  forty  per  cent 
— this  barbarous  prohibitive  tariff  is  at  war  with 
civilization,  you  know,"  was  a  favorite  expression  of 
Mr.  Potter. 

Immediately  after  his  arrival  in  New  York,  he 
made  close  connection  with  two  distinguished  Anglo- 
Irishmen,  one  of  whom  was  Mr.  Lawrence  Bodkin, 
of  Wicklow,  the  principal  editorial  writer  on  a  so- 
called  Republican  daily  newspaper  of  New  York 
City,  and  the  other  a  certain  Richard  Boaker,  a  lead 
ing  spirit  in  the  Tammany  organization.  Mr.  Boaker 
was  by  birth  Irish,  as  several  generations  of  his 
ancestors  were.  He  was  of  a  family  distinguished 
for  its  undying  hostility  to  their  Celtic  fellow-country- 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  209 

men ;  but  all  this  was  forgotten  by  the  exiles  in  their 
contemplation  of  Mr.  Boaker's  burning  zeal  in  the 
cause  of  Democracy.  Mr.  Boaker  himself,  speaking 
of  this  singular  forgetfulness  in  Irish  character, 
always  became  enthusiastic  over  what  he  termed 
their  liberality;  and  when  Mr.  Potter  observed  that  it 
seemed  unnatural  that  a  man  with  a  family  record 
like  Mr.  Boaker's  sho'uld  be  voluntarily  accepted  as 
a  leader  in  New  York  politics,  Mr.  Boaker  ex 
plained: 

"The  Irishman,"  he  said,  "is  the  only  citizen  in 
America  who  never  makes  religious  distinctions  in 
politics,  and  who  never  inquires  into  the  religion  of 
a  candidate  for  whom  he  votes  at  the  polls." 

Through  Messrs.  Bodkin  and  Boaker  a  conference 
was  called  at  the  office  of  Mr.  Bodkin's  paper. 
The  persons  present  were  Mr.  Thomas  Bayley  Pot 
ter,  Secretary  of  the  Cobden  Club;  Mr.  Bodkin, 
Mr.  Boaker,  a  United  States  Senator  from  the  State 
of  Maryland,  and  a  distinguished  Democratic  leader 
from  the  State  of  Connecticut,  whom  the  members 
of  the  conference  addressed  familiarly  as  "Mules." 

Mr.  Potter  said  that  England  desired  closer  com 
mercial  relations  with  their  American  cousins.  They 
did  not  object  to  a  five  or  ten  per  cent  tariff,  such  as 
the  cheaper  labor  of  England  could  bear,  "but  we  do 
decidedly  object  to  your  beastly,  barbarous  protective 
tariff,  you  know." 

Mr.  Bodkin  was  of  the  opinion  that  an  appeal  for 
lower  duties  would  secure  the  support  of  the  dudes 
and  the  tories. 

u  Might  I  inquire  in  confidence,"  said  Mr.  Potter, 
"who  the  dudes  are  ?" 

"  Certainly," said  Mr.  Bodkin.  "The  dude  isa  crea 
ture  somewhat  resembling  a  man,  narrow  of  intellect 
and  narrower  of  pantaloons,  who  affects  the  manners 
of  the  English,  and  wishes  to  be  considered  an  En- 


14 


210  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

glishman ;  but  'tween  you  and  me,  Mr.  Potter,  he 
bears  about  the  same  relation  to  an  Englishman  that 
a  sickly  spaniel  does  to  an  African  lion.  He  is  not 
always  of  English  descent.  He  may  be  German,  or 
he  may  be  Irish,  but  his  consuming  desire  is  to  coun 
terfeit  the  English  manners.  He  is  a  curious  creature, 
but  he  votes." 

"  And  who,"  said  Mr.  Potter,  "are  the  tories  ?" 

"The  tories,"  said  Mr.  Bodkin,  "are  Americans 
who  are  more  English  than  the  English,  who  always 
speak  of  the  people  of  this  nation  as  'Anglo-Saxons/ 
and  who  curse  God  for  the  surrender  at  Yorktown. 
They  are  our  friends,  and  I  speak  unreservedly  re 
specting  them,  so  that  there  may  be  a  clear  under 
standing  of  the  situation." 

"Are  our  friends,  the  tories  and  dudes,  quite  nu 
merous  in  America  ?"  said  Mr.  Potter. 

"On  the  Atlantic  coast,"  replied  his  informant. 
"  They  are  not  numerous  in  the  West.  It  is  said  that 
there  is  something  in  the  climate  west  of  the  Alle- 
ghenies  that  kills  the  dude,  just  as  there  is  a  mysteri 
ous  something  fatal  to  snakes  in  your  sister  kingdom 
of  Ireland." 

"  Let  me  inquire,"  said  the  agent  of  the  Cobden 
Club,  "how  an  active  fight  for  freer  trade  in  the  in 
terest  of  England  would  be  met  by  your  numerous 
Irish-American  population?" 

"There  are  very  many  of  the  Irish,"  said  Mr. 
Boaker,  "  who  have  no  love  for  your  free-trade." 

"But,"  said  Mr.  Potter,  "we  are  not  asking  for 
free  trade.  We  only  ask  for  freer  trade." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Mr.  Boaker.  "  But  these  en 
lightened  Irish — the  Nationalists,  so  called — don't 
want  your  trade  free,  freer  or  freest — either  in  the 
positive,  comparative  or  superlative." 

"That  is  not  my  understanding,"  said  the  Senator 
from  Maryland.  "  My  observation  leads  me  to  feel 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  211 

certain  that  you  couldn't  kick  an  Irishman  out  of  the 
Democratic  party.  They  are  great  talkers.  They 
sing  "  The  Wearing  of  the  Green."  They  may  love 
Ireland  and  hate  England;  but  give  me  a  brass  band 

and  a  Democratic  banner,  and   I  don't  give  a  d n 

about  the  issues.     Pardon  my  emotion,  Mr.  Potter." 

Mr.  Bodkin  and  "Mules"  gave  the  judgment  of 
the  Maryland  Senator  unqualified  indorsement. 

"That  is  our  understanding  at  'ome,"  said  the 
secretary,  "You  notice  that  we  are  always  willing 
that  our  Irish  fellow-subjects  should  find  homes  in 
America,  They  sometimes  give  us  trouble  in  Ire 
land,  you  know,  but  in  America  they  are  our  best 
friends ;  it  is  a  Cobden  Club  maxim,  you  know,  that 
'the  highest  use  England  can  make  of  an  Irishman 
is  to  send  him  to  America  to  vote  for  free-trade.' ' 

"In  my  judgment,"  said  the  Maryland  Senator, 
"the  Irish  are  O.  K." 

"But  what,"  inquired  Mr.  Potter,  "will  you  do 
with  the  educated,  the  independent,  Ireland-loving, 
English -hating,  Americanized  Irish  —  with  those, 
blawsted  Nationalists,  who  are  so  ungrateful  as  to  de 
sire  the  exclusion  of  English  goods  from  the  Amer- 
can  market  ?  " 

"  Oh,  just  damn  their  characters,"  said  "  Mules  ;  " 
"  call  them  turn-coats,  traitors,  bribe-takers,  and  the 
like  ;  and  in  the  heat  of  an  election,  a  sufficient 
volume  of  blackguardism  is  irresistible." 

"  That  is  my  understanding  as  to  politics  in 
America,"  said  Mr.  Potter.  "  Now,  then,"  he  con 
tinued,  "in  what  quarter  shall  we  look  for  recruits? 

We  are  all  right  in  the  South,  Mr.  G ,  are  we 

not?" 

''The  South  Is  solid,"  said  the  Senator.  "The 
word  *  issue '  does  not  appear  in  our  lexicon.  We 
are  Democrats  down  there.  To  the  West,  especially 
to  the  Northwest,  we  must  look  for  new  allies  on 


212  ERIN  MOB:    THE   STORY  OF 

the  issue  of  tariff  reform.  There  we  must  inaugurate 
a  campaign  of  education.  We  must  teach  the  West 
ern  farmer  to  'sell  in  the  world's  dearest  market,  and 
buy  where  he  can  buy  the  cheapest ';  in  other  words* 
buy  from  England,  Mr.  Potter,  you  know." 
tl Capital  point!"  said  the  secretary. 

The  conference  then  proceeded  to  discuss  the 
question  of  finances.  Mr.  Potter  promised  that 
tariff-reform  literature  would  be  abundantly  sup 
plied.  The  club  would  also  supply  the  sinews  of 
war.  How  much,  if  stated  at  the  time,  was  never 
published ;  but  the  outcome  of  the  conference  was 
boldly  avowed  in  the  next  issue  of  the  New  York 
Evening  Post  (July,  1879).  That  paper  stated  in 
plain  terms  (and  this  is  not  fiction,  but  fact)  that 
"the  Cobden  Club  was  now  fairly  naturalized  in 
America  ;  that  it  was  intended  to  turn  its  attention 
to  the  congressional  elections  ;  that  it  was  established 
on  a  sound  financial  basis,  with  assured  working 
capital  for  several  years  to  come.""  From  that  hour 
to  this  the  New  York  Post  has  been  an  English 
organ,  not  less  loyal  than  the  London  Times. 

The  promise  of  the  Post  was  fulfilled.  In  the 
presidential  and  congressional  elections  of  1880  (the 
Garfield- Hancock  campaign)  the  American  people 
were  called  upon  once  again  to  meet  and  conquer 
England  in  the  effort  of  the  A tight  little  island''  to 
accomplish  by  corruption  and  intrigue  what  she  had 
failed  to  achieve  in  war — the  conquest  of  America. 

And  Greater  Ireland  (?),  as  usual,  voted  with 
England  and  for  England.  Numerous  daring  Irish 
men,  risking  character,  fortune  and  fellowship,  took 
sides,  for  the  first  time,  with  America  for  protection, 
and  broke  the  hitherto  undisputed  claim  to  perpetual 
and  unquestioned  allegiance  to  the  Democratic  party. 
The  heart  of  Greater  Ireland  feebly  but  perceptibly 
throbbed. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

DAY  DAWNS   ON  ERIN  MOR. 

N  route  for  San  Francisco,  Dillon  com- 
mitted  little  Marcellina  to  the  care  of  the 
good  sisters  at  Los  Angeles.  She  was 
still  a  child,  only  thirteen  years  of  age; 
a  child  whom  he  had  treated  as  his  own ; 
but  when  the  time  for  parting  came  at  San  Pedro 
(the  seaport  of  Los  Angeles),  there  was  a  scene.  The 
child  clung  to  him  passionately,  kissing  him  again 
and  again ;  and  her  dark  eyes  flashed  with  a  peculiar 
flame  that  was  something  more  than  childish.  It 
was  the  sacred  light  of  a  girl's  first  love;  but  he 
neither  anticipated  nor  appreciated  it.  To  him  she 
was  still  a  child,  and  if  the  thought  of  her  loving 
him  once  entered  his  head,  the  thought  was  but  a 
theory  to  be  lightly  rejected.  But  the  dark  eyes  of 
Marcellina  were  like  the  ghost  of  Banquo — they 
4>  would  not  down";  and  when  he  retired  to  his  state 
room  and  sought  to  sleep,  the  wavy  golden  locks  of 
the  girl,  shining  like  the  wheat  fields  in  autumn 
when  mellowed  by  California  suns,  and  the  dark  face 
and  the  flashing  eyes  and  the  holy  light  would  pass 
before  his  mental  vision,  and  for  the  first  time  in  ten 
long  years  he  gave  a  serious  thought  to  living 
womankind.  The  thought  was  born  but  to  be  set 
aside,  and  whenever  the  vision  recurred  he  endeav 
ored  to  withhold  his  will.  She  was  but  a  child,  an 
Indian,  a  barbarian.  She  would  form  new  acquaint 
ances  in  a  broader,  brighter  civilization,  and  would 
forget  him  as  he  endeavored  to  forget  her. 

After  weary  years  of  solitude  he  arrived  in  San 
Francisco.  When  he  had  sold  his  gold  dust,  and 
had  stored  a  comfortable  fortune  at  the  Hibernia 
Bank,  his  peculiar  weakness  again  beset  him.  He 


214  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

set  out  in  quest  of  his  Erin  Mor,  his  Greater  Ireland, 
which  he  ardently  hoped  to  find  among-  the  Irish  of 
San  Francisco.  Here,  surely,  in  the  chief  city  on  the 
Golden  Coast;  here  in  this  new  land  of  great  oppor 
tunities,  where  hearts  were  young  and  fresh  and 
pure,  he  would  find  his  countrymen  powerful,  pros 
perous  and  politically  independent.  His  investiga 
tion  satisfied  him  that  they  had  succeeded  admirably 
in  material  things.  They  bore  an  active  part  in 
commerce,  finance,  education  and  religion.  They 
were  potent,  too,  in  controlling  local  politics;  but  in 
the  higher,  broader,  grander  meaning  of  politics— 
in  the  moulding  of  public  policies,  in  the  shaping  of 
the  destinies  of  State  and  Nation — they  were  practi 
cally  ignored. 

He  sauntered  into  a  densely  populated  district  of 
the  city  known  as  "  Tar  Flat,"  among  the  dwellings 
of  the  poor  and  the  unfortunate.  It  was  a  district  of 
cheap  lodging  houses  and  poor  tenements,  and  of 
the  inevitable  accompaniment  of  poverty  and  cheap 
ness — the  cheap  saloon.  He  desired  to  travel  in 
this  quarter  without  entering  any  of  those  establish 
ments,  but  he  yielded  to  his  spirit  of  curiosity  when 
he  came  to  the  "Kilmaroo."  This  center  of  civiliza 
tion  occupied  a  corner.  The  name  of  the  proprietor 
was  not  apparent.  The  gilded  letters  upon  the  plate- 
glass  window  bore  only  the  simple  legend,  "The 
Kilmaroo,"  and  a  large  rosewood  box  inside,  resem 
bling  in  size  and  outline  an  ice-chest,  also  displayed 
in  gilded  letters  the  name  of  "The  Kilmaroo." 

A  policeman  came  out  of  the  side  doqr,  evidently 
suffering  from  some  acute  affection  of  the  stomach. 
Dillon,  witnessing  his  agony,  first  inquired  as  to  the 
cause  of  his  suffering.  The  guardian  of  the  law  bent 
himself  in  the  shape  of  a  quarter-moon,  as  if  he  had 
eaten  too  freely  of  unripe  cucumbers. 

"  Bad  luck  to  that  green  bartender!"  he  said.  "  I 
asked  him  for  water  and  he  gev  it  to  me.  It's  the 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  215 

first  I've  drank  since  I  jined  the  force,  and  it  nearly 
killed  me." 

A  powerful  organization  called  "The  Kilmaroos" 
made  headquarters  at  this  establishment. 

"What  is  the  fellow  with  the  shovel  doing?"  in 
quired  Dillon  of  the  policeman. 

"  Och,  he's  jist  feedin'  some  snakes  to  the  craythur." 
"But  I  don't  see  any  snakes,"  said  Dillon. 
"  Naythur  do  I,"  said  the  officer.     "  But  the  boys 
on  the  bench  see  a  whole  field  full  of  snakes.     These 
gentlemen  are  members  of  the  gang,  and  whenever 
any  of  the  gang  is  troubled  wid  the  traymens,  and 
sees  the  snakes,  ould  Tim  has  the  snakes  fed  to  the 
Kilmaroo,  and  it  aises  the  feelings  of  the  boys." 
"But  the  snakes  are  purely  imaginary?" 
"Yis,  me  boy,"  said  the  officer,"  and  so  is  the  Kil 
maroo.      If  ye'll  keep  the  saycret,  and  don't  give  me 
away,  I'll   give  ye  the  whole   snap.      It's   ould   Tim 
himself  that's  in  the  rosewood  box." 
"  And  who,  pray,  might  ould  Tim  be?" 
"Oh,  come  off  wid  ye,"  said  the  officer.      "What 
are  you  givin'  us  ?     You  must  be  a  foreigner — (bad 
luck  to  the  foreigners!  it's  immigration  that's  killin' 

o  <> 

San  Francisco) — Don't  know  Tim  Devereux,  the 
chief  of  the  Kilmaroos  ?" 

"Tim  Devereux!"  said  Dillon.  "This  must  be 
"  Slippery  Tim,"  my  old  friend  of  the  San  Diego 
Mountains."  And  it  was. 

"And  who  are  the  Kilmaroos?"  inquired  Dillon. 

"  They  are  an  organization  for  upholding  Demo 
cratic  principles,"  said  the  officer. 

"  Organized  to  defend  free  speech  and  the  sanctity 
of  the  ballot,  1  suppose?" 

"  It's  right  you  are  as  far  as  you  go,  my  friend," 
said  the  officer.  "They  never  break  up  a  meetin' 
unless  it's  again'  the  Democrats  it  is,  and  they  never 
knock  anybody  down  who  votes  the  Democratic 


216  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

ticket.  If  you'll  come  up  to  Horticultural  Hall  to 
morrow  night,  you'll  see  the  Kilmaroos  smash  an 
Irish-Republican  meetin'  into  smithereens.  I'll  give 
you  the  hailin'  sign  of  the  order ;"  and  the  officer 
passed  the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  diagonally 
across  his  nose. 

"  Now,"  he  added,  "  yer  fixed.  The  devil  a  sowl 
will  dare  to  touch  you  when  you  have  the  sign. 
You're  an  Irishman,  and  a  Dimocrat,  av  coorse." 

San  Francisco,  at  that  time,  had  a  great  many 
Irish  societies,  varying  in  shades  of  intensity  from 
the  blood-red  of  advanced  nationalism  to  the  pale 
green  of  landleagueism.  The  tinseled  emerald  re 
galia  and  the  green-dyed  ostrich  plumes  of  Irish 
processions  were  frequent  sights  in  San  Francisco  ; 
and  if  English  cruelty  and  rapacity  could  be  curbed 
by  burning  resolutions  and  green  ribbons,  it  was  a 
clear  case  of  Delenda  est  Britannia. 

The  presidential  campaign  was  in  progress,  and  a 
number  of  Irishmen,  with  sense  enough  to  under 
stand  that  England  was  proof  against  Patrick's-day 
parades,  but  quite  vulnerable  to  the  assaults  of  pro 
tective  tariffs,  and  believing  that  these  Irish  societies 
were  honest  in  their  professions  of  hostility  to  Eng 
land,  actually  resolved  to  put  their  professions  to  test 
by  calling  a  meeting  of  Irish-Americans  to  assemble 
at  Horticultural  Hall,  in  support  of  the  Republican 
policy  of  protection  and  against  the  British  policy 
of  free-trade. 

This  call  aroused  the  wrath  of  the  Kilmaroos, 
and  it  was  resolved  to  smash  the  protectionist  meet 
ing.  These  pioneer  Irish  Republicans  found  it 
necessary  to  call  a  militia  company,  "The  Garfield 
Invincibles,"  to  protect  them  against  a  probable  at 
tack.  Tim  Devereux  was  then  notified  that  any 
attempt  to  break  up  the  meeting  would  result  in 
several  funerals.  The  warnine  was  almost  com- 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  217 

pletely  effective.  The  main  body  of  the  Kilmaroos 
remained  at  their  headquarters,  and  the  few  strag 
glers  who  came  were  unceremoniously  kicked  down 
stairs  and  corded  on  the  sidewalk.  The  citizens 
present  were  not  all  of  the  Republican  faith,  but 
they  were  all  Irish-Americans,  'and  were  unanimous 
in  adopting  the  following  resolutions  : 

"Resolved,  That  a  time  and  an  occasion  have  come 
in  American  public  affairs,  when  Irish  Americans,  in 
the  maintenance  of  their  self-respect,  if  from  no 
other  motive,  must  assert  the  right  hitherto  denied 
to  them — a  right  freely  and  fully  exercised  by  all 
other  races  of  men  in  this  country — the  right  to  vote 
with  some  regard  to  the  persons  to  be  voted  for,  and 
the  issues  and  the  questions  to  be  determined. 

" Resolved,  That  in  American  politics  there  should 
be  no  green  flag.  We  are,  first  of  all  things,  Ameri 
cans.  This  Nation  is  our  home.  We  are  a  laboring 
people,  whose  best  interests  are  inseparable  from  the 
industrial  prosperity  of  America,  and  we  will  be 
faithful  to  America  against  every  foe,  native  o&  for- 


eiRn." 


These  resolutions  were  adopted  with  a  cheer,  and 
without  a  dissenting  vote.  Several  brief  rousing 
speeches  were  made,  and  the  right  of  Irish-Americans 
in  San  Francisco  to  free  discussion  and^a  free  ballot 
was  vindicated. 

Dillon,  who  was  a  silent  spectator,  was  overjoyed 
at  the  proceedings.  This  was  the  first  time  during 
his  fifteen  years  residence  in  America  that  he  had 
ever  seen  a  public  meeting  of  Irish-Americans  daring 
to  differ  with  the  Democratic  party,  or  daring  in  any 
manner  to  express  any  political  opinion  except  such 
as  the  Democratic  conventions  dictated. 

"  This,"  said  he,  "is  the  beginning  of  the  end — day 
dawning  on  my  Erin  Mor" 

"Amen,  amen,"  said  the  president  of  the  meeting; 


218  ERIN   MOR:     THE   STORY   OF 

and  then  it  was  that  Dillon  recognized  in  the  speaker 
the  same  Charles  Henry  Scanlan  who,  with  revolver 
in  hand,  protected  the  freedom  of  the  ballot  at  New 
Limerick  a  dozen  years  before. 

Dillon  laughed  heartily  as  he  drew  a  carving  knife 
from  his  pocket. 

"What  in  the  world  were  you  doing  with  that?" 
said  Scanlan. 

"Well,"  said  Dillon,  "I  feel  a  trifle  ashamed  for 
carrying  a  weapon  like  that ;  but  the  clerk  at  the 
hotel  advised  me  that  the  surest  way  to  secure 
peace  with  the  Kilmaroos  was  to  be  prepared  for 
war;  that  if  I  went  unarmed,  and  the  Kilmaroos 
made  an  attack,  I  might  need  to  defend  myself,  but 
that  a  display  of  my  carving  knife  would  make  its 
use  unnecessary." 

"That's  correct,"  said  a  stranger  who  stood  listen 
ing  to  the  conversation.  "  Next  to  a  blackthorn 
stick,  a  long-bladed  knife  is  the  boss  among  hood 
lums.  They  are  so  often  shot  at  that  they  succeed 
in  dodging  a  pistol  bullet.  But  they  quail  before  cold 
steel  every  time.  Your  ruffian  and  bully  of  the  slums 
is  generally  a  coward,  unmanned  by  his  vices.  Show 
him  a  courageous  front  and  your  means  of  defence, 
and  he  will  hardly  ever  show  fight." 

"Might  L  ask  your  name,  sir?"  said  Dillon  curi 
ously. 

"Certainly,  sir,"  said  the  stranger.  "My  name  is 
Peter  Mclntyre." 

"Peter  Mclntyre?  Peter  Mclntyre?"  exclaimed 
Scanlan  and  Dillon  in  chorus.  "  Great  God  !"  added 
Scanlan,  "can  this  be  'Peter  the  Pagan/  the  lover 
of  Maggie  Sullivan,  the  victim  of  Isaac  Marx  and 
the  Devoys  ?" 

"The  same,"  replied  Mclntyre;  "but,  boys,  how 
changed  !  This  hair  of  mine,  black  as  a  raven  when 
I  left  New  Limerick,  became  white  as  snow  within 
a  few  months  after.'; 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  219 

"  No  use  crying  over  spilled  milk,  Peter,"  said 
Scanlan.  "  Let  us  go." 

And  they  went  to  a  comfortable  San  Francisco 
home,  and  they  talked  of  old  times  and  old  friends, 
and  the  bright  hopes  for  Erin  Mor  in  the  future  of 
America. 

The  Irish- Americans  in  considerable  numbers 
supported  General  Garfield ;  and  though  he  would, 
without  doubt,  have  been  elected  without  their  sup 
port,  still  the  courageous  fight  they  made  in  many 
cities  that  year  was  a  noteworthy  historical  and 
political  fact.  It  was  the  first  general  movement  of 
Irish- Americans  to  dispute  the  absolute  ownership  of 
their  suffrages  by  the  Democratic  party;  the  first 
noticeable  manifestation  of  Irish- American  resent 
ment  at  the  alliance  between  England  and  the 
Democratic  party.  It  was  the  commencement  of  a 
revolution  which  has  been  fruitful  of  credit  and  honor 
to  the  Irish  race,  and  a  valuable  aid  to  the  cause  of 
a  sound  American  nationality. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

ENGLISH  CIVILIZATION  SOCIETY. 

ETER  the  Pagan"  had  resided  for  years 
I  in  one  of  the  prosperous  cities  of  the 
Missouri  Valley.  His  blacksmithing 
business,  under  the  fostering  policy  of 
protection,  had  expanded  into  a  foundry 
and  machine  shop,  and  a  carriage  and  wagon  factory. 
Declining  health  compelled  him  to  seek  a  more  con 
genial  clime;  so,  selling  out  to  his  partners,  he  took 
his  departure  for  California. 


220  ERIN   MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

"Come  with  me  to  God's  country,"  said  Dillon. 
Come  to  Southern  California,  where  'the  climate  is 
as  mild  as  a  mother's  smile,  and  the  soil  as  fruitful  as 
God's  love/" 

"  The  United  States  of  America  is  God's  country," 
said  the  "  Pagan." 

"True  enough,"  said  Dillon,  "but  you  have  lived 
long-  enough  in  the  frigid  North.  Come  down  to  San 
Diego.  If  you  seek  a  lovely  country,  there  it  is. 
There  is  not  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  as  far  as  I 
know,  a  more  delightful  climate  than  that  of  the  bay 
region  of  San  Diego.  It  is  a  land  of  eternal 
sunshine — never  hot  and  never  cold.  If  you  desire 
to  live  to  a  ripe  o1d  age,  come  down.  It  is  there 
that  the  pulse  of  youth  goes  bounding  in  the  bending 
forms  of  the  aged  ;  a  land  that  literally  flows  with 
milk  and  honey;  where  'you  tickle  the  earth  and  it 
laughs  potatoes';  the  land  of  the  lemon,  the  orange, 
and  the  olive,  where  you  can  indeed  sit  in  peace 
under  your  .own  vine  and  fig  tree.  Come  with  me, 
ma  bouchal,  and  we'll  give  you  a  caed  milld  failthe. 
We  are  both  unmarried.  We  can  keep  bachelor's 
hall,  and  live  a  life  of  freedom  on  the  sea-shore  or  in 
the  mountains." 

"I  have  often  questioned/' said  Mclntyre,  "whether 
a  man  born  and  reared  in  a  cold  climate,  and  who 
has  lived  for  half  a  life-time  amid  the  snows,  the 
forests,  and  the  rushing  rivers  of  the  North,  would 
ever  be  contented  under  your  eternal  sunshine,  with 
perpetual  summer." 

11  But  it  is  not  perpetual  summer,"  responded 
Dillon.  "  There  is  no  sudden  change  from  the  suns 
that  burn  to  the  storms  that  chill.  But  we  have  a 
seed-time  and  a  harvest.  You  feel  all  the  delightful 
sensations  of  the  spring-time  when  the  rains  of 
December  coax  forth  the  young  vegetation  ;  and  you 
feel  all  the  glory  of  summer  in  the  month  of  March, 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  221 

when  you  stand  in  one  of  our  southern  valleys  amid 
grasses  and  flowers  knee  high.  In  June,  July  and 
August  you  witness  the  ripening  of  the  grape,  the 
peach  and  other  fruits,  and  the  mellowing  of  the 
golden  ear  in  the  grain  fields.  There  is  no  such 
word  as  winter  on  the  sea-shore  of  Southern  Califor 
nia;  but  if  you  must  have  a  breath  of  frosty  air  or  a 
little  diversion  at  snow-balling,  we  can  run  up  into 
the  mountains  fifty  miles  or  so  for  a  change." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  "  Pagan,"  "  I'll  go  you.  I  am 
a  free  commoner.  If  the  San  Diego  country  is  all 
that  you  say  it  is,  I  will  be  satisfied." 

And  on  Sunday  afternoon  they  found  themselves 
on  board  of  one  of  the  splendid  coast  steamers,  pass 
ing  out  of  the  Golden  Gate,  and  into  the  broad 
Pacific.  Three  days  later  they  were  at  Fern  Hill,  in 
San  Diego  County.  They  located  timber  culture 
entry  claims  side  by  side.  Neither  then  nor  subse 
quently  was  their  chosen  habitation  known  to  fame. 
It  is  not  named  upon  the  maps,  nor  designated  by 
the  name  of  Fern  Hill  upon  the  assessment  rolls. 
They  gave  it  its  name  from  the  great  variety  and 
beauty  of  the  ferns.  It  was  a  wilderness  within  easy 
reach  of  civilization — behind  the  ocean  valley  and 
the  mesa,  amid  the  rolling  hills  that  border  the  great 
valley  of  El  Cajon.  The  hand  of  man  has  greatly 
altered  its  conditions.  There  are  groves  of  eucalyp 
tus  and  sycamores  and  cottonwoods,  and  hedge 
rows  of  cypress,  and  long  lines  of  magnolias  that 
shed  their  fragrance  all  around  them;  and  there  are 
hedge-rows  of  marguerite,  with  their  wealth  of  snow- 
white  blossoms,  and  roses  in  abundance  scattered 
upon  their  isolated  bushes,  or  trailing  along  the  roof 
and  walls  of  the  cottages.  The  traveler  may  climb 
upon  one  of  the  highest  hills  and  see  the  white-sailed 
ocean  ships  sailing  around  Point  Loma  into  the  Bay 
of  San  Diego;  or  turning  the  eye  in  another  direc- 


222  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

tion,  he  will  observe  the  Sweetwater  River  flashing 
back  the  sunlight,  and  beyond  the  river  the  little 
wooded  parks  that  nestle  at  the  foot  of  the  San 
Miguel  Mountain,  and  beyond  those  pretty  patches 
the  mountain  itself  rising  majestically,  almost  per 
pendicularly,  from  the  valley  to  the  clouds.  Looking 
eastward,  through  some  opening  between  two  hills, 
he  will  see  the  orange  groves  and  vineyards  on  the 
slopes  of  El.  Cajon ;  and  far  away  to  the  east  the 
circling  mountains  with  their  dark  forests  and  snow- 

o 

covered  peaks. 

There  were  quails  and  rabbits  innumerable,  and 
the  wild  bees  stored  their  wealth  of  honey  in  hollow 
trees  and  rocks  in  all  the  surrounding  country.  After 
the  first  rains,  in  November  and  December,  mush 
rooms  of  enormous  size  could  be  gathered  every 
where  upon  the  sheep  pastures  in  the  valleys  and  on 
the  hillsides,  and  great  water-melons  grew  in  the 
shallow  river  beds  from  seeds  scattered  by  accident 
or  design  upon  the  sands  in  the  early  summer.  Cut 
tings  of  the  grape-vine  set  in  fertile  crevices  among 
the  rocks  grew  into  luxuriant  vines  with  a  viow  that 

o  o 

taxed  the  industry  of  the  husbandman  to  trim  and 
control.  Strawberries  ripened  during  every  month 
of  the  year,  and  in  every  regard  Nature  liberally  re 
warded  the  toiler  for  a  little  labor.  The  climate  of 
the  foot-hills  was  still  more  salubrious  than  the  air 
upon  the  sea-side.  The  ocean  moisture  that  came  up 
in  cloud  or  fog  was  dissipated  by  the  sun  before  the 
breeze  that  bore  it  passed  inland  over  Fern  Hill ;  so 
that  even  in  those  days,  long  before  the  advent  of 
railroads,  many  invalids  from  the  north  camped  and 
wandered  around  the  foot-hills  to  prolong  their  lives 
by  breathing  its  balmy  atmosphere.  Here  it  was 
that  the  two  old  bachelors,  political  exiles,  martyrs 
of  circumstance,  made  their  homes. 

They  had  many  transient  visitors  ;  but  there  was 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  223 

one  visitor  who  clung  to  them  with  wonderful  tenacity. 
He  was  the  aged  Pridmore,  whom  they  learned  to 
call  "  Old  Prid  "  for  short.  He  was  one  of  the  most 
amiable  men  that  ever  lived.  He  had  come  from 
London  to  San  Francisco  as  a  free-trade  missionary, 
but  the  unappreciative  and  ungrateful  hoodlums  of 
the  Pacific  metropolis  never  took  kindly  to  his  doc 
trines.  It  was  impossible  to  doubt  his  sincerity.  He 
was  well  satisfied  that  it  was  the  mission  and  duty  of 
England  and  the  English  to  civilize  all  the  nations 

o  o 

of  the  earth,  and  to  seize  the  earth  by  way  of  com 
pensation  for  their  missionary  labors. 

He  was  now  acting  as  an  agent  for  the  "  Anglo- 
California  Civilization  Society."  The  purposes  of 
this  corporation  were  ostensibly  benevolent.  They 
had  seized  many  thousands  of  acres  of  the  richest 
lands  in  the  Mexican  State  of  Lower  California 

under  some  arrangement  with  the  Mexican   govern- 

.        -. 
ment,  and  they  were  now  engaged  prospecting  San 

Diego  County,  with  a  view  to  seizing  its  water  supply. 
Water  is  life  in  Southern  California.  The  mountain 
lake  at  Cuyamaca  and  the  Sweetwater  and  San  Diego 
rivers  are  the  great  sources  of  supply  for  San  Diego. 
Pridmore's  mission  was  to  examine  and  report  upon 
the  subject  of  water  to  the  Civilization  Society.  Dil 
lon  and  Me  In  tyre  saw  the  intent,  and  foresaw  the 
consequences  of  the  enterprise.  They  foresaw  that 
in  the  event  of  war  with  England  she  would  have  a 
foot-hold  in  Northern  Mexico  and  an  outpost  in  San 
Diego  County  ;  that  a  time  might  come,  and  doubt 
less  would  come,  when,  taking  advantage  of  Mexico's 
weakness  or  misfortune,  England  would  seize  Lower 

o 

California,  and  establish  her  power  on  the  southern 
border  of  the  United  States. 

Dillon  felicitated  himself  upon  the  fact  that  the 
English  had  fallen  in  love  with  San  Diego  County  ; 
''because,"  he  would  say,  "its  resources  and  its  pros- 


224  ERIN  MOR:     THE   STORY  OF 

pects  are  so  great  as  to  appeal  to  their  rapacity,  while 
of  course  this  country  will  not  permit  them  to  seize 
the  land." 

Mclntyre  held  a  different  view.  "  If  they  get  a 
foothold  here  on  any  pretense,"  he  said,  "whether 
they  come  as  miners,  traders,  benefactors  or  mission 
aries,  they  will  plunder  Southern  California,  just  as 
surely  as  they  ravaged  the  Valley  of  the  Ganges,  and 
converted  Ireland  into  a  wilderness  and  a  plague  spot. 
They  have  set  their  eyes  upon  its  water  supply,  and 
they'll  get  it  by  purchase,  or  by  corrupting  influential 
citizens  and  public  officials.  They  have  seized  and 
debauched  the  wine  business  of  the  State  already,  and 
they  have  made  the  name  of  beer  in  California  a 
mockery  and  a  delusion  since  they  bought  up  the 
breweries." 

Mr.  Pridmore  explained  that  the  company  was 
animated  only  by  love  for  their  English-speaking 
brethren  in  America,  and  desired  to  invest  their 
English  capital  in  supplying  water  to  the  natives,  you 
know.  There  was  a  beautiful  spring  in  the  neigh 
borhood  of  Fern  Hill,  near  which  bands  of  Indians 
occasionally  camped  for  the  night.  One  evening  Mr. 
Pridmore  rushed  up  to  Fer-n  Hill,  breathless  from 
exertion  and  excitement.  He  had  visited  the  Indian 
camp,  and  on  behalf  of  the  society  he  sought  to  make 
a  treaty  with  the  red  men,  by  the  terms  of  which 
they  would  pay  tribute  to  the  Civilization  Society  for 
the  use  of  the  spring.  They  chased  him  out  of  the 
camp  into  the  friendly  shades  of  Fern  Hill,  and  when 
he  found  himself  safe  with  his  Irish  friends,  he  for 
got  for  the  moment  his  missionary  morality,  and 
"  blowed  and  blawsted  the  bloody  h'eyes  of  the  blaw- 
sted  American  peasantry."  "  Ah,  lads,"  he  added, 
"  h'it's  little  better  than  h'old  h' Ireland  if  a  British 
subject  may  be  chased  by  the  blawsted  h'Americari 
peasantry. " 


IEISH   REPUBLICANISM.  225 

Pridmore  was  a  most  plausible  liar.  They  often 
laid  schemes  to  induce  him  to  tell  the  truth,  but  they 
never  succeeded.  Neither  by  chance,  accident,  in 
advertence,  or  design,  was  he  ever  known  to  make  a 
statement  strictly  true. 

Yet  they  hailed  him  as  a  jolly  good  fellow,  and  a 
professed  friend  of  Ireland  and  the  Irish;  but  when 
ever  they  drove  him  to  the  wall  in  controversy,  he 
ended  the  discussion  by  assuring  them  that  "the 
trouble  with  the  Irish,  you  know,  is  that  the  govern 
ment  is  too  easy  with  them,  you  know."  And  when 
he  had  bade  them  his  good-byes,  Dillon  would  remark 
what  a  good-natured  soul  he  was.  But  Peter  the 
Pagan  had  less  faith  in  British  benignity. 

"  If  Old  Pridmore,"  he  said,  "  with  all  his  benevo 
lence,  sat  at  the  gate  of  heaven  where  St.  Peter  is 
supposed  to  be  stationed,  and  my  soul  approached 
the  gate,  if  I  had  to  enter  heaven  by  his  permission, 
I^would  never  enter  it.     It  is  impossible  for  him  and 
his  to  love  us  and  love  their  prey,  our  native  island.. 
"  Should  the  Saxon  snake  unfold 
At  thy  feet  his  scales  of  gold, 
Trust  him  not." 

Days  and  seasons  came  and  went  at  Fern  Hill. 
Dillon  and  Mclntyre  employed  the  labor  of  men  and 
teams  to  break  the  land  for  their  groves,  and  occa 
sionally  an  Indian  assisted  at  their  garden  work, 
while  they  themselves  labored  assiduously  to  beautify 
their  homes.  Mclntyre  heartily  sympathized  with 
his  friend  Dillon  in  his  bright  hopes  for  Erin  Mor, 
and  it  was  mutually  agreed  that  three  years  later  they 
would  visit  the  East  to  feel  the  pulse  of  Ireland  in 
America  during  the  presidential  campaign. 

At  latest  accounts  the  English  Civilization  Society 
held  a  mortgage  on  the  city  of  San  Diego  to  secure 
payment  for  its  water  supply.  Their  colonization 
in  Lower  California  proved  a  failure;  but  coloniza- 


226  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

tion  was  not  their  purpose.  When  war  between  the 
United  States  and  Chile  seemed  probable,  the  Civi 
lization  Society  stood  ready  to  seize  an  English 
coaling  station  at  San  Ouentin,  on  the  Lower  Cali 
fornia  coast,  and  to.  build  a  railroad  from  San  Ouentin 
to  the  border  of  San  Diego  County,  at  Tia  Juana. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

GREATER  IRELAND  IN  COUNCIL. 

) 

HE  people  of  Ireland,  under  the  leader 
ship  of  Charles  Stewart  Parnell,  pre 
sented  in  the  battle  for  Home  Rule  a 
practically  united  front  in  1884,  and  the 
nation,  that  seemed  bleeding  to  death  in 
1847,  and  lav  "like  a  corpse  upon  a  dissecting  table" 
in  1848,  had  risen  again,  putting  forth  as  best  she 
could  all  the  feeble  strength  in  her  possession,  with 
the  hot  blood  of  national  life  bounding  through  her 
myriad  veins.  Her  Spartan  cry  for  help  followed 
the  exiles  in  the  track  of  the  emigrant  ships  across 
the  waters  of  the  Atlantic.  Erin  Mor  responded 
with  lavish  generosity.  But  while  the  Irish  in  Ire 
land  continued  their  gallant  struggle  for  native  gov 
ernment  and  industrial  independence,  the  great  mass 
of  the  Irish  in  America  were  the  best  friends  of 
England's  interest  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic. 

There  appeared  in  the  political  firmament  of  the 
United  States,  in  the  northern  part  of  New  York, 
a  bright  particular  star  in  the  person  of  a  man  named 
Cleveland — variously  called  Stephen  Groverr  Stephen 
G.r  S.  G.,  and  finally  Grover  Cleveland.  He  had  been 
Mayor  of  Buffalo,  Sheriff  of  Erie  County,  New  York, 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  227 

and  Governor  of  the  Empire  State.  He  was  a  type  of 
the  phenomenal  politician  who  occasionally  comes  to 
the  surface  in  American  politics ;  who  dazzles  by  the 
splendor  of  his  successes,  while  he  puzzles  the  minds 
of  the  multitude  who  shout  for  him,  as  to  why  they 
are  shouting.  He  was  a  young  man  during  the  war 
of  the  Rebellion,  in  the  fullness  of  such  manhood  as 
he  ever  attained  ;  but  no  one  ever  heard  of  him,  ex 
cept  that,  when  drafted  for  service  in  the  army,  he 
hired  a  substitute,  and  was  wounded  for  his  country, 
by  proxy,  on  the  field  of  Gettysburg,  Suddenly 
this  man  appeared  in  the  arena  of  national  politics  as 
the  champion  of  English  free-trade  for  America. 
1  Tariff  Reform "  was  what  he  called  it ;  and  he 
rested  his  claim  to  the  presidency  on  this  idea  of 
tariff  reform,  and  the  other  idea,  that  no  one  ought 
to  be  elected  President  for  a  second  term — except 
him.  He  became  a  fetich  in  American  politics.  The 
hat  was  passed  in  London  for  him,  and  vast  sums 
were  raised  by  the  Cobden  Club  and  other  British 
organizations  to  advance  this  apostle  of  tariff  reform. 
All  England— from  Gladstone  in  the  cabinet  to  the 
beggar  on  London  Bridge — shouted  for  him.  The 
British  press  bepraised  him  to  the  skies,  and  the  sons 
and  kindred  of  the  Irish  famine  exiles  in  America 
echoed  the  hosannas  of  the  London  Times.  Pic 
tures  of  him  were  hung  in  every  bar-room  from 
Maine  to  California,  and  virtuous  Irish  mothers  had 
framed  lithographs  of  him  exposed  to  the  gaze  of  their 
innocent  daughters,  in  parlors  and  in  drawing-rooms. 
He  was  compared  by  His  idolaters  to  George  Wash 
ington,  to  Andrew  Jackson,  and  to  Thomas  Jeffer 
son,  and  in  certain  Irish  circles  St.  Patrick  and 
Robert  Emmet  took  back  seats  when  this  new  god 
Grover  was  "to  the  fore." 

It  was  during   this  idolatrous  rage   that  a  great 
convention  of  the  Irish  National  League  met  in  the 


22$  ERLN   MOR:    THE   STORY   OF 

city  of  Chicago.  It  was  probably  the  greatest  as 
sembly  of  representative  Irishmen  that  ever  con 
vened  in  Ireland  or  America.  Twelve  hundred  del 
egates  represented  the  states  and  territories  of  the 
Union  and  the  Dominion  of  Canada,  and  several  Irish 
members  of  Parliament  were  present,  as  were  at  least 
a  dozen  members  and  ex-members  of  the  American 
Congress,  a  score  of  judges  of  courts  of  record,  and 
fifty  priests  of  the  Catholic  church.  An  Episcopal 
clergyman  presided,  and  a  Methodist  minister  occu 
pied  a  place  beside  him  on  the  platform.  The  con 
vention  pledged  to  Ireland  two  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  dollars  for  the  advancement  of  the  Home 
Rule  cause,  and  the  pledge  was  sacredly  fulfilled. 
The  sensational  feature  of  the  proceedings  was  the 
introduction  of  a  resolution  by  an  awkward-looking 
delegate  from  California. 

"Mr.  Chairman!" 

The  chair:  "The  gentleman  from  California." 

Delegate  Andy  Dillon:  "  I  move  you,  sir,  the  adop 
tion  of  the  resolution  which  I  read: 

"Resolved,  That  this  convention  of  the  Irish 
National  League  is  in  favor  of  boycotting  English 
merchandise  in  America ;  that  we,  the  delegates,  will 
buy  no  English  goods,  and  that  we  will  endeavor  to 
induce  the  millions  of  Irish-Americans  to  cease  buy 
ing  English  goods,  and  we  pledge  our  sacred  honor 
that  we  will  never  buy  a  blade  of  English  hardware, 
nor  an  inch  of  her  dry  goods,  until  the  relations  now 
existing  between  England  and  Ireland  are  radically 
changed." 

This  resolution  was  greeted  with  mingled  hisses 
and  cheers.  The  delegates  from  New  York  City 
and  Boston  bitterly  opposed  it,  but  it  received  the 
earnest  support  of  every  delegate  who  sincerely  loved 
America,  and  who  intelligently  hated  England.  After 
a  lively  and  good-natured  debate,  a  vote  was  taken, 


IEISH  REPUBLICANISM.  229 

and  to  the*surprise  of  Andy  Dillon  himself,  and  of 
the  other  real  Nationalists  present,  the  resolution 
was  adopted. 

Right  hearty  were  the  congratulations  that  greeted 
the  Caiifornian,  and  when  a  recess  was  taken,  groups 
of  old  friends  and  of  new  ones  gathered  around  him. 
Patrick  Ford,  of  the  Irish  World,  declared  that  the 
cloud  which  had  darkened  the  mind  of  Greater  Ire 
land  had  been  rent,  and  that  this  resolution  was  the 
beginning  of  the  end.  There  was  astonishment  and 
consternation  among  the  ward  politicians,  and  many 
of  them  who  had  voted  for  the  resolution  retired 
from  the  hall  in  deep  dissatisfaction.  Albert  Michael 
Devoy  arid  Perry  Tonitis  Devoy  were  outspoken  in 
their  denunciations. 

"They  don't  mane  it,"  said  Albert  Michael 
"  Wait  till  the  votes  are  counted  in  the  fall,  and 
ninety-five  per  cent  of 'em  will  be  cast  for  tariff  re 
form," 

"  I  don't  give  a ,"  responded  Dillon.  "  Ma 
jorities  are  powerless  to  destroy  a  principle.  Erin 
Mor  has  spoken  ;  has  uttered  God  Almighty's  truth ; 
has  declared  for  a  principle  that  every  honest  Irish 
man  believes  in  ;  and  sooner  or  later  the  seed  sown 
by  this  declaration  will  bear  bitter  fruit  for  Eng 
land." 

The  seed  sown  by  the  resolution  fructified  much 
sooner  than  the  sower  anticipated.  On  the  very 
night  of  its  adoption  a  private  meeting  of  selected 
delegates  was  held  in  one  of  the  club-rooms  of  the 
Grand  Pacific  Hotel.  The  meeting  numbered  about 
fifty  men.  There  were  no  "  Irishmen  by  trade" 
present  The  meeting  was  composed  of  those  who, 
in  various  ways,  had  proven  their  devotion  to  Ireland 
and  to  America. 

Captain  James  Sullivan,  of  the  armless  sleeve,  was 
there,  and  so  was  Colonel  Denny  Burke,  laden  with 


230  EKIN  MOR:     THE  STORY  OF 

lead  fired  from  English  muskets  by  brave  Confeder 
ates  during  the  war  for  the  Union.  And  there  was 
the  veteran  Methodist  preacher  from  Ohio,  Dr. 
William  McNevin;  and  there  were  men  who  had 
been  glorified  by  the  death  sentence  in  English 
courts  of  justice  (?)  in  Ireland,  and  men  who  had 
been  tortured  in  British  prison  hells  for  devotion  to 
Ireland,  and  men  who  had  been  hunted  down  like 
wolves  and  driven  into  exile,  and  men  whose  grand 
fathers'  blood  had  mingled  with  the  waters  of  the 
Slaney  in  '98,  and  sons  of  the  men  of  '48,  and  men 
who  had  taken  to  the  hillsides  in  1865,  and  descend 
ants  of  those  who  had  perished  upon  the  scaffold  and 
in  the  dungeon.  But  the  children  of  those  who  died 
of  hunger  were  not  invited. 

And  there  was  a  man  up  the  chimney.  An  old 
newspaper  reporter  had  been  appointed  inside  guard, 
with  instructions  to  seek  for  intruders.  He  lit  a 
match,  looked  up  the  fire-place,  made  a  haul,  and  at 
first  dragged  down  the  coat-tail  and  then  the  body 
of  Shenius  Ruadh — Red  Jim  McDermott,  an  active 
Democrat,  and  a  spy  in  the  service  of  England. 

They  kicked  him  out,  and  flung  after  him  the  con 
tents  of  his  pockets,  consisting  of  a  biography  of 
Grover  Cleveland  and  a  copy  of  Harpers  Weekly, 
containing  a  cartoon  representing  an  Irishman  with 
the  face  and  tail  of  a  baboon. 

A  genteel  little  man  of  keen  blue  eyes  and  fair 
complexion,  a  citizen  of  the  State  of  Nebraska,  pre 
sided.  This  man  had  held  very  responsible  positions 
in  Irish  affairs,  and  though  an  exceedingly  mild,  re 
fined  and  courteous  gentleman,  was  regarded  by  the 
British  government  as  a  very  dangerous  person.  He 
stated  the  purpose  of  the  meeting  to  be  some  prac 
tical  effort  to  counteract  British  influence  in  Ameri 
can  national  politics  ;  especially  to  defeat,  if  possible, 
the  conquest  of  America  by  the  Cobden  Club  and  its 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  231 

allies,  and  to  arouse  the  intelligence,  patriotism  and 
conscience  of  the  Irish  in  America  to  a  sense  of  their 
duty  as  American  citizens. 

There  was  little  discussion,  and  no  formal  resolu 
tions,  but  an  expressed  and  unanimous  determination 
that  for  the  love  of  America,  for  the  honor  and 
dignity  of  the  Irish  race,  in  vindication  of  their  self- 
respect,  they  must  break  the  bonds  that  made  the 
Irish  the  body-guard  of  England  in  American 
politics. 

There  were  no  fiery  speeches  and  no  cheers ;  but  in 
the  hearts  and  eyes  of  those  assembled  there  was 
desperate  resolve,  and  it  was  agreed  that  each  would 
take  an  active  part  upon  the  American  side  in  the 
forthcoming  presidential  battle ;  and  before  the  lights 
were  extinguished  these  devoted  exiles  clasped  each 
other's  hands  with  a  pressure  that  was  more  express 
ive  than  an  oath. 

To  the  soul  of  Andy  Dillon  this  silent  exhibition 
was  like  the  sight  of  "sky  and  stars  to  prisoned 
men;"  and  he  grasped  the  hand  of  the  Methodist 
minister,  and  led  him  to  a  corner  of  the  hall  where 
Dr.  Barry  was  standing,  and  these  three  men  re 
newed  the  vow  made  fifteen  years  before  in  the  foul 
tenement  of  the  dying  Murphy,  at  New  York,  that 
they  '/would  make  no  peace  with  England." 

The  candidates  nominated  by  the  Republicans  for 
President  and  Vice-president  were  James  G.  Elaine 
and  John  A.  Logan,  a  brilliant  statesman  and  a 
gallant  soldier.  Elaine  was  descended  from  Celtic 
stock,  of  revolutionary  and  Irish  ancestry;  and  the 
gallant  Logan,  "  the  Marshal  Ney  of  America,"  the 
idol  of  the  volunteer  army,  was  the  son  of  an  Irish 
man.  The  revenue  plank  of  the  Republican  platform 
took  issue  squarely  with  Cleveland's  Tariff  Reform. 

Surely,  if  there  was  a  living  soul  in  Greater  Ire- 

f  O 

land,  here  was  an  inspiring  appeal  to  all  that  was 


232  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

wise  and  generous  and  heroic  in  that  soul.      It  was 

o 

yet  a  problem  if  the  time  had  come.  Had  penal 
laws,  free-trade  and  famine,  the  emigrant  ship  and 
the  stifling  tenement,  and  the  lash  of  the  slave-holder, 
and  the  whip  of  the  ward  politician,  and  "  the  world, 
the  flesh  and  the  devil"  rotted  out  the  once  heroic 
soul  of  the  ancient  race? 


CHAPTER  XL. 

AFTER  FIFTEEN  YEARS. 

N  a  summer  morning,  in  the  year  1884, 
two  travelers  arrived  at  the  Union  depot 
in  New  Limerick — two  brawny-looking 
middle-aged  men,  with  bearded,  sun- 
browned  faces.  They  inquired  for  the 
home  of  Torn  Sullivan,  but  the  young  people  whom 
they  addressed  scratched  their  heads  dubiously,  and 
it  was  some  time  before  they  found  anyone  who  could 
give  them  the  desired  information. 

"Tom  Sullivan — poor  Tom,  the  stone-mason?" 
said  an  old  man  to  whom  the  inquiry  was  addressed. 
"  Dead  for  many  years  ;  buried  in  the  cemetery  be- 
yant  the  creek.  You  will  have  no  trouble,  sir,  in 
finding  his  grave,  with  its  white  marble  monument; 
the  purtiest  tombstone  in  the  graveyard,  except  that 
of  Barney  Devoy." 

"And  the  Sullivan  family — Tom's  children — what 
of  them  ?" 

"  Scattered,  sir.  Captain  James  Sullivan  moved 
to  one  of  the  cities  of  Northern  New  York,  and  be 
came  great  as  a  lawyer,  and  wealthy  in  the  banking 
business.  Little  Jerry— surely  you  must  have  heard 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  233 

of  Little  Jerry  who  was  killed  at  Frederick sburcr — . 
everyone  has  heard  of  little  Jerry.  And  Mary,  she 
entered  a  convent  and  is  doing  God's  work  among 
the  hospitals  of  New  York  City." 

"And  Maggie — what  of  her?" 

"  Oh,  Dea,  poor  Maggie  !  poor,  broken-hearted 
Maggie !  Surely  you  must  have  heard  of  her  mis 
fortune.  She  fell  in  love  wid  a  black  Republican 
called  "  Peter  the  Pagan."  He  first  went  back  on 
his  party  and  his  blessed  religion,  and  then  took  a 
wild-goose  chase  to  the  West — the  dirty  blackguard! — • 
fifteen  years  ago,  and  never  was  heard  from  since. 
Mag  Sullivan  threw  the  pearl  of  her  love  away  upon 
that  swine.  She  wept  and  waited  year  after  year, 
till  the  silver  threads  appeared  in  her  nut-brown 
hair,  and  she  finally  joined  her  brother  Jim  up  on 
the  shore  of  Lake  Champlain." 

"Living  still,  is  she  not  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  agra,  a  sort  o'  livin' — livin'  the  life  of  a 
widow — an  unmarried  widow,  weepin'  for  a  dirty, 
black-hearted  blackguard  who  went  back  on  the 
party." 

''And  the  Devoy  family — how  are  they?" 

"You  know,  of  course,  that  ould  Barney  is  dead. 
Albert  Michael  and  Miss  Birdelia  and  the  ould  lady 
and  Perry  Tonitis  are  livin'  here  still,  flourishin' 
finely ;  but  Frank,  the  religious  boy,  he  left  the 
country,  and  went,  it  was  said,  on  a  sacred  pilgrim 
age  to  the  Holy  Land." 

"And  who  is  Perry  Tonitis,  that  you  speak  of ? 
There  was  none  of  the  Devoys  called  Perry  Ton 


itis." 


'That's  the  little  fellow  that  tended  bar  at  the 
Buchanan  Exchange.  He  runs  a  wholesale  drug 
store  now.  All  of  the  family  but  him  had  high-toned 
names;  and  Miss  Birdelia,  who  is  a  Frinch  and  Latin 
scholar,  would  never  be  aisy  till  Tony  had  a  high- 


234  ERIN   MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

sounclin'  name.  He  took  the  name  Perry  from  an 
English  gentleman  who  was  makin'  love  to  Miss 
Birdeiia,  and  the  name  Tonitis,  they  say,  is  the  Latin 
for  Anthony." 

The  first  stranger  quietly  slipped  a  silver  dollar 
into  the  hand  of  the  old  man  who  answered  the  in 
quiries — judging  from  his  seedy  appearance  that  it 
would  mean  no  offence. 

"  And  who,  sir,  may  I  take  the  liberty  to  ask,  is 
the  big-hearted  gentleman  who  gives  me  the  dollar?" 

"  The  stranger  who  takes  the  liberty  to  do  so,  if 
it  please  you,  sir,  is  '  Peter  the  Pagan.' " 

"And  this  other  gentleman,  your  companion?" 

"A  man  by  the  name  of  Andy  Dillon.  Both  of  us 
all  the  way  from  Southern  California.  And  your 
name,  if  you  please?" 

"  Finneran,  sir;  Tim  Finneran.  It's  many  a 
rousin'  time  I  had  wid  ould  Barney  in  his  day  ;  but 
I  got  into  financial  difficulties — got  in  debt  to  Bar 
ney,  borrowed  money  from  Albert  Michael.  He 
saized  my  cattle  and  the  ould  blind  mule,  and  I 
never  recovered  from  that  misfortune." 

The  strangers  turned  to  go,  but  were  subjected  to 
a  painful  exhibition  on  the  part  of  Finneran.  He 
took  off  his  old  soft  hat,  thrust  it  under  his  left  arm 
and  commenced  muttering  a  string  of  prayers  for  the 
eternal  and  temporal  welfare  of  "his  Honor  Pagan 
Pete,"  and  "  his  Honor  Andy  Dillon,"  and  as  he  bent 
himself  submissively,  "Pagan  Pete"  found  it  hard  to 
resist  the  impulse  to  kick  him  in  the  face. 

"A  curse  upon  you,  you  old  hypocrite!  lift  up 
your  head  and  put  on  your  hat.  Have  you  breathed 
in  vain  the  free  air  of  America  for  a  quarter  of  a 
century  ?" 

''They  are  not  all  dead  yet,"  said  Dillon.  "There's 
a  fair  specimen  of  creatures  whom  England  starved 
and  brutalized  ;  ignorant,  superstitious,  treacherous, 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  935 

hypocritical ;  '  free  raw  material '  for  Democracy. 
It  will  be  a  blessed  day  for  Ireland  and  America 
when  the  last  of  them  is  in  heaven." 

And  the  strangers  turned  in  the  direction  of  the 

£> 

Catholic  cemetery,  and  walked  unrecognized  within 
the  precincts  of  God's  acre. 

*'  Pagan  Pete"  knelt  in  prayer  beside  the  tomb  of 
his  departed  friend,  Tom  Sullivan ;  and  Dillon  walked 
in  the  direction  of  the  tombless  grave  of  Nancy 
Me  Hugh,  under  the  old  elms  in  the  corner.  He 
expected  to  find  it  neglected  and  weed-covered  ;  but 
he  was  happily  mistaken.  The  grave  was  tastily 
sodded,  and  the  tender  blue  grass,  moistened  by  the 
dripping  of  dews  and  rains  from  the  trees  above, 
wore  its  summer  sheen  ;  and  there  were  roses  bloom 
ing  at  the  head  of  the  grave,  and  a  beautiful  white  lily 
at  the  foot ;  and  above  poor  Nancy's  breast  there  grew 
in  beauty  and  fragrance  a  bunch  of  forget-me-nots. 
So,  filled  with  the  sweet  and  bitter  memories  of  the 
past,  and  softened  in  the  contemplation  of  the  grass 
plot  and  the  flowers,  he  knelt  beside  the  grave,  and 
wept  and  prayed  ;  and  as  he  thought  of  the  loving 
hands  that  beautified  the  sacred  spot,  he  modified 
his  estimate  of  mankind,  and  admitted  to  himself 
that  in  this  cold  world  there  is  much  of  sunshine  amid 
the  shadows,  and  of  mercy,  and  of  pity,  and  of 
chnrity  and  love. 

A  tasteful  tomb  now  marks  the  spot  where  Nancy's 
ashes  lie. 

Turning  from  the  grave-yard,  the  strangers  wan 
dered  through  New  Limerick,  to  note  its  progress 
and  to  seek  old  friends.  Among  the  arrivals  were 
the  family  of  Dalton,  the  Claddagh  fisherman.  The 
"king"  himself  was  dead,  but  his  sons  had  joined  the 
colony  of  Claddagh  fishermen,  who  had  settled  on 
the  coast  of  Massachusetts  ;  and  the  girls,  Mary 
and  Bridget,  after  working  for  a  time  in  the  factories, 


236  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

were  now  married  to  prosperous  Irish- American 
mechanics. 

Albert  Michael  Devoy  had  become  immensely 
wealthy,  had  an  influence  in  politics  commensurate 
with  his  wealth,  and  was  a  regular  member  of  the 
Cobden  Club  of  New  York  City,  and  the  trusted 
political  co-laborer  of  Thomas  Bayley  Potter,  for  the 
advancement  of  English  commercial  interests  in 
America.  He  inherited  the  charitable  disposition  of 
his  father,  and  continued  to  contribute  regularly  at 
every  Christmas  two  barrels  of  pigs'  feet  to  the  poor, 
at  a  cost  of  three  dollars  a  barrel ;  and  it  was  also 
remembered,  to  his  eternal  honor,  that  he  came  to 
the  rescue  of  a  young  man  who  had  become  besotted 
at  the  Buchanan  Exchange,  by  paying  a  fine  of  nine 
dollars  for  him  at  the  police  court.  These  charities 
had  great  weight  in  the  election,  which  fulfilled  the 
measure  of  his  ambition  by  making  him  a  member  of 
the  school  board. 

Perry  Tonitis  Devoy  was  in  the  wholesale  drug 
business.  Having  risen  above  the  business  of  dram- 
selling,  he  sold  whisky  now  by  the  bottle  and  jug 
ful,  with  a  little  quinine  and  a  few  pills  at  times;  but 
he  sold  ten  gallons  of  whisky  for  every  box  of  pills, 
and  at  the  same  time  maintained  the  dignity  of  the 
family.  He  was  a  member  of  the  City  Council,  and 
secretary  of  the  Tariff  Reform  Club. 

Miss  Birdelia  Devoy  very  .nearly  became  a  count 
ess.  For  many  years  the  family  insisted  that  she 
must  marry  a  title,  and  when  this  fact  became  public, 
numerous  suitors  sought  her  hand.  There  was  first 
an  English  lord  (so  called),  said  to  be  the  younger 
son  of  Sir  Charles  Bilke,  of  Bilkey  Hall.  He 
appeared  in  New  Limerick  one  morning,  wearing  an 
eye-glass  and  a  cane,  carrying  several  band-boxes, 
and  accompanied  by  a  bull-dog.  He  was  received 
into  the  best  society,  and  within  a  week  from  the 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM,  237 

date  of  his  arrival,  scores  of  the  Irish- American 
dudes  each  wore  an  eye-glass  and  a  cane,  and  each 
was  accompanied  by  a  dog. 

Birdelia's  mother,  Mrs.  Barney  Devoy,  inadvert 
ently  spoiled  this  love  affair.  Albert  Michael  had 
led  Sir  Arthur  Bilke,  the  suitor,  to  believe  that  the 
Devoys  were  of  Huguenot  French  extraction; 
"partly,"  as  he  explained  with  an  apology,  "partly 
born  in  Ireland  ;"  but  when  Mrs.  Devoy,  in  her  work 
ing  dress,  came  from  the  kitchen  to  the  drawing- 
room,  and  calling  the  family  to  supper,  shouted  at 
her  banker  son:  "Albert  Michael,  you  devil,  come 
in  te  yer  tay! "  it  was  too  much  for  the  prejudices  of 
Sir  Arthur,  and  he  left  the  town  next  morning,  ac 
companied  by  his  faithful  bull-dog.  Her  next  suitor 
was  the  Italian  Count  Bassiano.  This  count  tem 
porarily  displayed  plenty  of  money  and  a  patent  of 
nobility ;  and  to  crown  his  efforts  he  was  assisted  in 
his  suit  by  Mr.  Isaac  Marx,  the  venerable  and  pow 
erful  New  York  political  leader.  Mr.  Marx  and  the 
count  made  frequent  visits  to  the  Devoy  mansion, 
and  were  royally  entertained  on  such  occasions.  It 
so  happened  that  as  these  two  worthies  were  riding 
in  an  open  carnage  from  the  mansion  to  the  depot, 
Andy  Dillon  and  "  Pagan  Pete"  observed  them,  and 
the  "  Pagan  "  remarked  to  his  companion  that  he  had 
seen  the  count  before.  It  seemed  to  Dillon  as  if 
the  "  Pagan"  for  an  instant  became  deathly  pale,  and 
anon  his  face  turned  red  in  passion,  and  his  eyes 
flashed  with  a  strangely  malignant  light. 

"Do  you  know  the  count?"  inquired  Dillon. 

"Yes,"  responded  the  "  Pagan ;"  "that  is  the  scoun 
drel  who  fractured  my  skull  at  the  Clifton  House, 
fifteen  years  ago ;  who  caused  my  insanity,  and  drove 
me  out  into  the  world.  He  it  was  who  robbed  me 
of  Maggie  Sullivan's  love  and  made  me  a  guiltless 
outcast  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  Take  care  of  your- 


238  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

self  for  a  day,  Andy,"  he  added.  He  then  hurried 
to  the  depot,  and  rode  in  the  same  car  with  Isaac 
and  the  count  from  New  Limerick  to  New  York. 

Between  the  social  extremes,  ranging  from  the 
penniless  Finneran  up  to  the  aristocratic  Devoys, 
there  was  now  at  New  Limerick  a  numerous,  power 
ful  and  prosperous  Irish- American  element.  The 
"old  timers"  were  dying  off.  The  Buchanan  Ex 
change  was  in  the  hands  of  strangers.  There  were 
some  of  the  younger  generation  who  were  no  im 
provement  upon  their  fathers  ;  but  there  was  also  a 
later  generation,  the  men  who  came  over  after  1865, 
bearing  in  their  heads  a  common  school  education, 
and  in  their  hearts  fraternal  love  for  their  fellow- 
countrymen,  and  a  decent  regard  for  the  institutions 
and  the  feelings  of  the  American  people.  There 
was  a  still  younger  generation,  born  on  American 
soil,  educated  in  American  schools,  and  nurtured  upon 
the  milk  of  America's  generous  bosom.  They  had 
eaten  the  bread  grown  upon  her  soil,  and  in  their 
pockets  jingled  the  liberal  earnings  paid  to  American 
labor.  New  England  boys  by  birth,  they  were  not 
wholly  indifferent  to  the  glorious  history  and  tra 
ditions  of  New  England.  These  young  men  had 
opinions  in  politics,  and  many  of  them  were  in  hearty 
sympathy  with  American  industry  and  American 
ideas.  Windfalls  dropped  and  kept  dropping,  it  was 
true.  Nature  exercised  her  prerogative  in  the  sur 
vival  of  the  fittest.  Irish  mothers  transmitted  to 
their  daughters  the  legacy  of  virtue  and  fecundity. 
The  church  and  the  school  were  cheerfully  maintained, 
and,  all  things  considered,  Dillon  was  proud  of  the 
rising  generation,  and  hopeful  for  his  Erin  Mor. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

CLEVELAND    AND    THE    IRISH. 

HE  presidential  campaign  of  '84  opened 
during  the  month  of  August.  A  meet 
ing-  of  Irish- Americans  was  held  at 

o 

Checkering  Hall,  in  the  city  of  New 
York,  under  the  direction  of  the  Irish 
World.  That  great  newspaper,  always  remarkable 
for  its  radical  independence,  exerted  its  tremendous 
power  battling  against  the  free-trade  conquest  of 
America.  Three  thousand  Irish- Americans  were 
crowded  within  the  hall,  and  five  thousand  more 
clamored  around  the  building,  in  vain,  for  admittance. 
Andy  Dillon  and  " Pagan  Pete"  occupied  seats  upon 
the  platform,  and  listened  with  deep  interest  and 
enthusiasm  to  the  eloquent  speeches  that  were  made. 
One  of  the  orators  was  the  Rev.  Dr.  William  Mc- 
Nevin;  another  was  a  descendant  of  the  famous 
patriot  and  political  economist,  Henry  Carey,  of 
Philadelphia.  John  Roach,  the  great  Irish- American 
ship  builder,  was  represented  by  his  son.  The  meet 
ing  was  thoroughly  American  in  tone  and  sentiment. 
The  remarkable  speech  of  the  evening,  the  speech 
that  sounded  the  key-note  for  Irish-Americans,  and 
that  woke  a  responsive  chord  in  every  heart,  was 
made  by  an  uncouth,  pale-faced,  gloomy-looking 
Celt  from  Western  Iowa;  a  man  who  has  passed  out 
of  public  life,  and  who  recently  died,  it  is  said,  some 
where  in  the  State  of  California.  Great  meetings 
were  subsequently  held  at  the  Brooklyn  Opera 
House,  at  Faneuil  Hall  in  Boston,  at  Newark,  Balti 
more,  and  other  great  cities  all  over  the  country;  and 
Greater  Ireland  was  aroused  for  a  great  principle, 
and  everywhere  evinced  an  enlightened  patriotism 
and  fervid  enthusiasm  never  hitherto  manifested  by 


240  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

the  race  in  American  politics.  This  activity  aroused 
a  counter  feeling  among  the  enemies  of  American 
industrial  independence,  i  naugurating  an  era  of  political 
iconoclastn.  New  York  City  became  the  battle-ground. 

The  Irish- American  protectionists  were  the  apos 
tles  of  a  new  sect,  preaching  a  new  heresy  among  the 
faithful  of  the  Democratic  fold.  Dillon  and  "  Pagan 
Pete"  traveled  in  pairs,  and  spoke  from  a  truck  when 
ever  opportunity  offered.  A  short  time  before  the 
election  it  seemed  certain  that  Elaine  and  Logan 
would  be  elected,  despite  the  united  efforts  of  De 
mocracy,  mugwumpery,  toryism  and  English  money. 
Greater  Ireland  was  apparently  acting  a  gallant  part, 
and  earning  the  gratitude  of  its  American  friends 
and  neighbors  in  the  Northern  States. 

Suddenly  Burchard  spoke.  At  a  meeting  of 
Christian  ministers  assembled  at  one  of  the  great 
hotels  of  New  York  City,  for  the  purpose  of  receiv 
ing  and  honoring  James  G.  Elaine,  one  of  these 
ministers  uttered  his  famous  alliteration,  "Rum, 
Romanism  and  Rebellion."  Mr.  Elaine,  who  was 
engaged  in  conversation  at  a  point  remote  from  Rev. 
Burchard,  did  not  hear  the  odious  remark,  and  of 
course  did  not  sympathize  with  it ;  but  these  three 
words  undoubtedly  decided  a  presidential  election. 

On  the  Sunday  morning  succeeding  this  event,  Mr. 
Isaac  Marx  was  distributing  hand-bills  in  front  of 
St.  Andrew's  Church,  on  Chambers  street.  Albert 
Michael  and  Perry  Tonitis  were  similarly  engaged 
at  the  Church  of  St.  Loyola  at  New  Limerick,  and 
zealous  Democrats  rendered  like  service  at  all  the 
principal  Catholic  churches  in  America.  These  hand 
bills  bore  the  ominous  heading — 

|  RUM,  ROMANISM  AND  REBELLION  [ 

Followed  by  an  argument  holding  Elaine  responsible 
for  the  senseless  ebullition  of  bigotry.  Bigotry  won. 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  241 

The  Irish  had  been  unaccustomed  to  reason  on 
American  political  subjects,  and  thousands  of  them 
who  were  theretofore  active  supporters  of  Elaine, 
were  repelled  by  the  Burchard  incident.  Thus 
Elaine  was  defeated,  and  thus  was  retarded  for  four 
years  more  the  triumph  of  freedom  and  independ 
ence  in  American  politics  of  the  Irish-American 
citizen. 

Albert  Michael  Devoy  was  appointed  postmaster 
at  New  Limerick.  This  appointment  was  presumed 
to  be  highly  gratifying  to  the  Irish.  How,  now, 
could  any  Irishman  scratch  a  Democratic  ticket  after 
this  recognition  of  the  race  ? 

The  Irish  in  California,  too,  were  reported  to  the 
reform  President  as  clamorous  for  recognition  ;  and 
to  appease  this  alleged  clamor,  Francis  Xavier  De 
voy  was  appointed  postmaster  of  a  California  city  ; 
but  it  was  somewhat  inconvenient  for  him  to  perform 
the  duties  of.  the  position,  because  he  was  just  then 
"doing  time  "in  the  San  Ouentin  penitentiary  for 
robbing  the  identical  post-office  to  which  he  had  been 
appointed.  A  retired  horse-thief  subsequently  ob 
tained  the  appointment.  Thus  was  exemplified  the 
glorious  doctrine  of  civil  service  reform  ;  and  in 
stances  of  this  kind  were  quite  common  under  the 
administration  of  the  reform  President. 

^  One  day,  as  Albert  Michael  was  smoking  his  after- 
dinner  cigar,  Senator  Barnum,  accompanied  by  .two 
strangers,  walked  into  Albert  Michael's  private 
office.  One  of  these  two  was  a  deputy  marshal  of 
the  United  States,  and  the  other  a  gentleman  from 
Scotland  Yard,  London,  England — a  secret-service 
agent  of  the  English  government.  Senator  Barnum 
introduced  the  strangers,  and  briefly  stated  their 
business.  The  British  government,  with  the  sanc 
tion  or  connivance  of  Mr.  Cleveland's  deputy  mar 
shals,  was  taking  a  census  of  "  dangerous  Irishmen" 


16 


242  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

in  the  United  States,  and  collecting  information  as 
to  Irish-American  affairs.  When  requested  to  name 
the  dangerous  Irish  of  New  Limerick — that  is,  those 
considered  damaging  to  England — Postmaster  De- 
voy  suggested  certain  organizations. 

"  Do  you  mean  the  Knights  of  Saint  Patrick,  gen 
tlemen?" 

"  What  is  their  object?"  inquired  the  secret-ser 
vice  man  ?  " 

"They  eat  and  drink,  and  sing  and  toast  on 
Patrick's  nights  and  other  festive  occasions.  They 
get  their  mutton  for  the  feasts  from  Limerick  and 
their  whisky  from  Cork.  They  are  rale  patriots," 
said  Albert  Michael. 

11  Perfectly  harmless,"  said  the  Englishman.  "  Let 
them  sing ;  the  more  they  sing  and  shout  and  feast 
and  drink,  the  more  harmless  and  contented  they 
are.  Their  custom  is  a  convenient  safety-valve  for 
their  patriotism.  Let  them  shout." 

"Then," said  Albert  Michael,  "you  mean  the  An 
cient  Order  of  Hibernians?" 

"What  is  their  object?"  said  the  Englishman. 

tl  Friendship,  love  and  true  Christian  charity. 
They  wear  lovely  regalia  and  look  fine  in  processions. 
They  are  purty  much  all  good  Democrats." 

"  England  is  perfectly  satisfied,"  said  the  secret 
agent.  "  Let  them  be  friendly,  loveable  and  chari 
table  ;  let  them  wear  out  their  shoes  parading,  and 
wear  the  green  until  doomsday.  They  are  perfectly 
innocent  to  English  government  at  home  and  Eng 
lish  interest  in  America." 

"  Then  the  Fenians,  United  Irishmen  or  Clan-na- 
gaels?"  suggested  Albert  Michael. 

11  There  are  dangerous  men  among  them,"  said 
the  deputy  marshal;  "but  Mr.  Jenkins  (the  English 
man)  doesn't  mean  them." 

"  Not  as   members  of  these  organizations,"  said 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  243 

Jenkins,  "We  can  anticipate  and  baffle  them. 
Through  the  courtesy  of  Mr.  Cleveland's  post 
masters  we  are  enabled  to  reach  the  correspondence 
of  these  societies.  And,  by  the  way,"  he  inquired, 
"  have  you  any  letters  here  addressed  to  one  Patrick 
W.  Crowe?" 

Albert  Michael  reached  into  the  *'C"  pigeonhole 
and  brought  forth,  among  other  letters,  one  for  P. 
W.  Crowe.  The  English  agent  took  it ;  then  drew 
from  his  pocket  a  tiny  spirit  lamp,  with  a  miniature 
water  boiler  attached.  Applying  a  lighted  match  to 
the  lamp,  the  task  of  producing  steam  only  oc 
cupied  a  few  moments.  He  then  adroitly  held 
the  sealed  portion  of  the  envelope  over  the  jet  of 
steam,  and — presto! — the  letter  was  opened.  1 1  was 
signed  by  the  head  chief  of  the  dynamiters,  and  re 
lated  to  a  scheme  whereby  Mr.  Crowe  would  blow 
up  the  city  of  London  by  igniting  the  gas  in  the  main 
gas  pipes. 

"  Perfectly  harmless,"  said  the  Scotland  Yard  man  ; 
and  as  he  re-sealed  the  letter  and  restored  it  to  the 
"C"  pigeonhole,  he  looked  impatiently  at  Senator 
Barnum. 

"By  dangerous  Irishmen,"  said  the1  Senator, 
"  Mr.  Jenkins  means  two  classes  :  those  who  would 
commit  political  offenses  in  Great  Britain  or  Ireland, 
and  those  who  support  the  policy  of  protection  in 
American  elections,  and  defeat  the  cherished  pur 
poses  of  England  and  the  Democratic  party." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  the  postmaster;  and  he  hastily 
wrote  the  names  of  the  fifteen  or  twenty  "  dangerous 
Irishmen"  of  New  Limerick. 

"The  purpose  of  the  inquiry,"  Senator  Barnum 
explained,  "  is  to  enable  our  British  friends  to  find 
any  particlar  Irishmen  in  this  country  that  they  may 
desire  to  extradite  under  the  treaty  prepared  by  Mr. 
Bayard,  our  Secretary  of  State,  which  will  place 


EI-S   MOR:    THE   STORY   OF 

Irish  political  exiles  who  escape  to  this  country 
completely  within  the  power  of  the  British  govern 
ment.  Any  of  the  'dangerous  Irishmen '  may  go 
back  to  Ireland  any  day,  you  know/' 

"  Precisely  so,"  said  Jenkins, 

The  famous  treaty  never  became  operative,  A 
Republican  Senate  killed  it ;  and  Secretary  Blaine 
subsequently  negotiated  with  the  British  govern 
ment  a  substitute  for  the  Bayard  treaty,  which  (it  is 
needless  to  say)  was  not  framed  in  the  interests  of 
the  English  government. 


CHAPTER  XLIL 

"ERIN  MOR'S"  AGE  OF  REASON, 

f?T  was  late  in  the  month  of  October, 
amid  the  excitement  of  another  Presidential 
campaign.  Madison  Square  Garden  was 
thronged  with  Irish-Americans.  Ten  thou 
sand  Celts  were  assembled  within  the  walls 
of  the  vast  inclosure,.  and  quite  as  many  more  had  to- 
content  themselves  by  listening  to  speakers  at  the 
overflow  meetings  outside.  Within  the  building 
the  principal  speaker  was  James  G.  Blaine.  Close 
beside  him  stood  two  very  modest  looking  men,,  each 
answering  to  the  name  of  Patrick,  One  was  the 
editor  of  the  Irish  World;  the  other  was  the  sober,, 
timid  little  gentleman  who,  on  the  night  of  the  great 
Land  League  meeting  at  Chicago,  presided  over  a 
private  meeting  of  Irish-Americans;  a  man  who,  in 
after  years,  was  destined  to  play  a  conspicuous  and 
honorable  part  in  the  diplomacy  of  the  American 
Republic.  This  man  was  Patrick  Egan  of  Nebraska. 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  245 

The  word   "desperate"  will  best  describe  the  ap 
pearance  of  Elaine  on  that  memorable  night      His 
ample  lips,  protruding  from  his  closely-trimmed  beard 
appeared  to  be  of  blood-red  color,  in  strong  contrast 
with .his  gray  hair  and  beard,  and  the  ashen  color  of 
ftis  lace.      His  eyes  shone  with  a  peculiar  light      It 
was  not  the  fire  of  rage,  nor  the  flash  of  malignity 
It  was  more  probably  the  light  that  shone  out  of  a 
soul  ammatec 1  by  the  hope  that  a  day  of  reckoning 
had  come.    -  The  subject  of  his  speech  was  the  Mur- 
chison  letter,  and  the  reply  of  Lord  Sackville  West. 
Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  I  speak  to  you  to-night, 
not  as  Irishmen,  not  in  your  relation  to  the  British 
fc.mp.re,  but  as  Americans,  in  your  relation  to  this 
great  Republic,  of  which  you  and   I   are  citizens." 
A  ,en  riad  the  correspondence  between  Murchison 
and  Lord  Sackville  West,  and  the  subsequent  utter 
ances  of  the  British   Minister,  as  a  last  convincing 
undeniable  proof  of  the  affirmative  action  and  active 
sympathy  of  England  with  Cleveland  and  the  Dem- 
ocranc    party       At    the   conclusion    of  his   speech, 
Greater  Ireland,"  as  there  represented,  arose  from 
their_  seats  and  cheered   him   until  the  roof  of  the 
massive  building  trembled.    That  meeting  settled  in 
advance  the  fate  of  English  free-trade  and  its  cham 
pion,  the  Democratic  presidential  candidate.      The 
State  of  New  York  voted  for  Mr.  Harrison  ;  though 
in  the  same  election  David  Bennett  Hill,  the  Demo- 
cratic  candidate  for  Governor,  was  elected  by  some 
seventeen  thousand  plurality. 

In  the  succeeding  month  of  March,  the  Republicans 
entered  upon  the  work  of  government,  with  a  Re 
publican  President  and  a  working  majority  in  both 
houses  of  Congress— complete  control  in  all  branches 
of  the  government,  for  the  first  time  in  many  years 

Congress  passed  the  McKinley  bill-famous  or  in 
famous,  according  to  your  sympathies,  gentle  reader 


246  EKIN  MOE:    THE  STORY  OP 

This  law,  with  its  reciprocity  provisions,  became 
temporarily  unpopular  in  America,  and  gave  the 
whole  British  public  a  bad  taste  in  the  mouth,  and  has 
never  been  popular  in  England.  It  was  not  enacted 
for  the  benefit  of  England,  but  for  America  and 
Americans ;  and  time  has  vindicated  the  wisdom  and 
patriotism  of  its  supporters.  Among  its  effects  were 
the  vast  increase  of  American  exports  and  imports, 
and  a  commensurate  decline  in  the  manufactures  and 
commerce  of  England.  But  it  has  caused  immeas 
urable  unhappiness  to  the  press  and  people  of  Eng 
land.  Another  act  of  the  Administration,  that  was 
very  distasteful  to  the  British  press  and  public,  was 
the  appointment  of  Patrick  Egan  as  Minister  to  the 
Republic  of  Chile.  This  unhappiness  has  steadily 
increased.  Egan — just  think  of  it — Pat  Egan!  Not 
only  was  this  man  an  Irishman,  but  his  name  was 
Pat,  and  he  was  guilty  of  the  atrocious  crimes  of 
being  a  faithful  Irishman  in  Ireland,  and  a  patriotic 
and  devoted  American  in  America.  Every  Britisher, 
from  Gladstone  down  to  the  beggar  on  London 
Bridge,  howled  with  pain  at  the  appointment  of 
Egan.  But  his  appointment  cemented  the  alliance 
between  Greater  Ireland  and  American  nationality, 
while  it  demonstrated  to  the  Irish  at  home  and  abroad, 
and  to  England  and  all  mankind,  that  America  had 
for  once  an  administration  whose  distinguishing 
characteristics  were  devotion  to  America  and  an  un 
disguised  disregard  for  English  interest  and  English 
opinion. 

At  the  dawn  of  the  year  1892,  it  seemed  as  if  the 
people  of  the  United  States  would  be  compelled  to 
chastise  the  South  American  Republic  of  Chile.  In 
the  Chilean  city  of  Valparaiso  several  sailors  of  the 
navy  of  the  United  States  had  been  brutally 
assaulted,  and  two  of  their  number  had  been  killed. 
It  was  reasonably  certain  that  these  men  were 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  247 

assailed  because  they  were  Americans,  and  because 
they  wore  the  uniform  of  the  United  States.  They 
were  attacked  at  various  and  widely  separated  points 
in  the  Chilean  city,  and  the  soldiers  and  police  of 
Chile  were  among  the  assailants.  The  national  ad 
ministration  of  the  United  States,  with  the  patience 
that  is  characteristic  of  merciful  strength,  waited  in 
vain  during  three  long  months  for  apology  and  offer  of 
reparation,  but  the  Chilean  government  assumed  an 
attitude  of  contemptuous  indifference,  as  much  as  to 
say:  "What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  With 
the  President  and  Secretary  of  State  patience  was 
ceasing  to  be  a  virtue,  and  every  effort  of  the  govern 
ment  was  put  forth  to  prepare  the  navy  and  coast 
defences  for  an  anticipated  war.  Meanwhile  the 
President  was  preparing  the  ultimatum  of  the  Amer 
ican  government  to  Chile. 

Under  these  circumstances,  a  number  of  the  sur 
viving  officers  o/  Meagher's  Irish  brigade  in  the  war 
for  the  Union,  convened  a  meeting  at  Military  Hall, 
New  York,  for  the  purpose  of  organizing  a  regiment 
to  sustain  the  government  in  the  event  of  war.  The 
hall  was  crowded  to  its  utmost  capacity.  Some 
historic  characters  were  present,  among  them  Colonel 
Denny  Burke,  smiling  through  the  torture  of  his  old 
wounds.  Colonel  James  Cavanaugh,  of  the  Sixty- 
ninth,  made  a  hasty  call  to  signify  his  sympathy  and 
co-operation.  Captain  James  Sullivan  came  down 
from  Northern  New  York ;  Captain  O'Grady,  up 
from  the  '*  Commissary  Department"  downstairs; 
and  private  Patsy  Bradley  was  there,  minus  the 
lower  half  of  the  right  cheek  bone,  that  he  dedicated 
to  the  Union  on  the  field  of  Gettysburg.  Captain 
George  Spearman  put  in  an  appearance,  at  the  head 
of  three  score  of  his  "Tall  Tipperary  Boys." 

Just  as  Colonel  O' Kelly  called  the  meeting  to 
order,  Albert  Michael  Devoy  entered  the  hall  and 
approached  the  platform. 


248  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

He  came,  he  said,  as  a  delegate  from  the  "  Reform 
Club"  to  give  the  meeting  a  " quiet  tip."  "Ye  may 
spare  yerselves  the  trouble,"  he  said  ;  "  there  will  be 
no  war.  I've  got  it  straight,  and  I'll  give  ye  a 
pinter." 

"  How  do  you  know?"  inquired  the  chairman. 

"Because,"  said  Albert  Michael,  "Don  Juan 
Castro,  the  financial  agent  of  the  Chilean  govern 
ment  in  London,  has  cabled  Mr.  Larry  Bodkin,  of 
the  Cobderi  Club,  that  he  couldn't  make  the  riffle. 
Naythur  Gladstone  nor  Salisbury  nor  Chamberlain 
nor  the  Bank  of  England  would  put  up  the  stuff  for 
Chile  in  a  war  wid  the  United  States.  Naythur 
would  our  Reform  Club,  nor  the  English  bankers  of 
New  York.  They  all  a  kind  o'  figured  that  America 
would  kick  the  lining  out  of  Chile,  and  they  didn't 
want  to  play  agin'  a  sure  thing,  d'ye  mind?" 

"All  right/ Mr.  Devoy,"  said  Colonel  O'Kelly. 
"Many  thanks.  We'll  proceed  with  the  business  of 
the  meeting  just  the  same.  We  Irish- Americans 
are  looking  carefully  for  tips  from  London,  studying 
carefully  what  London  would  have  us  do,  to  the  end 
that  we  may  do  the  other  thing.  Gentlemen,  what 
is  your  pleasure?1' 

Again  all  eyes  were  turned  toward  the  door.  Mr. 
Isaac  Marx  entered,  followed  by  a  dozen  of  his  lieu 
tenants,  from  the  vicinity  of  Chatham  Square.  Mr. 
Marx  had  a  bundle  under  his  arm,  and  a  two-gallon 
jug  in  his  right  hand.  The  bundle  contained  a  cot 
ton  rag  about  four  feet  square,  with  a  figure  resemb 
ling  a  grid-iron  in  faded  gilt  upon  its  field. 

Everybody  was  anxious  to  know  what  relation  this 
foul  rag  micrht  bear  to  a  meeting  of  American  patri 
ots.  Mr.  Marx  relieved  their  inquisitiveness. 

"This,  thine fretends"  he  said,  l<  is  an  Irish  flag. 
I  used  it  for  seventeen  yaar  in  the  Patrick's  day  pro 
cessions  ouf  mine  boys.  I  come  to  present  it  to  the 


IRISH  KEPUBLICANISM.  249 

meeting,  und  I  got  a  leedle  old  goot  bourbon  in  this 
jug  for  the  boys  of  the  new  brigade." 

There  was  a  storm  of  hisses  from  the  five  hundred 
respectable  Irish- American  workingmen  in  the  hall, 
and  a  scowl  on  the  faces  of  the  officers. 

Patsy  Bradley  seized  the  fire  tongs,  and  doubling 
up  the  green  rag,  grasped  it  in  the  tongs,  and  threw 
it  out  of  the  window. 

"Now,  Isaac,"  he  said,  "get  out  with  your  jug, 
purty  quick,  or  I'll  fling  you  and  the  jug  after  the 
dry  goods.  Out  you  go,- d n  you!  out  you  go!" 

And  he  seized  Isaac  by  the  collar,  and  by  the 
bosom  of  his  pantaloons,  when  Colonel  Burke  step 
ped  in  and  begged  him  to  be  patient. 

"  Let  up,  Bradley,"  he  said;  "don't  be  rash.  Marx 
is  all  right.  He  means  to  be  complimentary.  He 
lives  in  the  lower  part  of  New  York  City  ;  that  is 
his  conception  of  an  Irish  flag,  and  this  is  the  esti 
mate  which  our  countrymen  there  have  taught  the 
bigot  and  the  blackguard  to  place  upon  Irish  patriot 
ism  and  Irish  character." 

Then  turning  to  Isaac,  he  added:  "Get  out,  Mr. 
Marx.  Take  your  jug.  You  will  find  your  flag  in 
the  yard.  Now  get!  These  are  not  your  kind  of 
Irishmen." 

And  Marx  and  his  lieutenants  departed. 

The  business  of  the  meeting  then  proceeded. 
Colonel  Burke  called  for  volunteers,  and  demanded 
a  show  of  hands.  Five  hundred  rugged  hands  were 
lifted,  and  five  hundred  fine  young  fellows,  most  of 
them  in  their  working  clothes,  and  many  of  them 
with  the  soot  and  grime  of  the  forges,  foundries  and 
factories  upon  them,  stepped  forward  to  enroll  their 
names.  Many  of  them,  when  taking  up  the  pen,  ut 
tered  a  patriotic  sentiment;  and  when  the  enrollment 
was  finished,  Colonel  Burke's  face  flushed  with  en 
thusiasm  and  admiration. 


250  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

There  was  another  interruption.  Ex-Alclerman 
J.  P.  Burns  rose  to  make  an  inquiry.  He  desired  to 
know,  he  said,  whether  a  war  with  Chile  would  not 
disturb  the  title  of  the  Democracy  to  the  Irish  vote; 
whether  shipping  Irishmen  out  of  New  York  in  de 
fence  of  the  government  would  not  be  a  crime  in 
the  nature  of  "disposing  of  or  removing  chattel 
property  ?  " 

The  chairman  assured  him  that  the  suffrages  of 
Irishmen  were  chattel  property  no  longer. 

"  One  word  more,"  said  the  Alderman.  "What 
about  Pat  Egan  ?  Isn't  his  conduct  in  Chile  offens 
ive  to  England  and  the  Democratic  party?" 

"I  guess  so,"  said  Colonel  O' Kelly;  "but  the 
President,  the  Secretary  of  State,  the  civilized  world, 
and  the  Irish  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic,  have  ap 
proved  his  fidelity  to  duty,  his  patriotism,  his  moral 
and  physical  courage,  and  above  all,  his  humanity  in 
saving  the  lives  of  refugees." 

Some  one  called  for  cheers  for  Harrison,  Elaine 
and  Egan,  and  old  Military  Hall  echoed  with  hearty 
cheers  from  hundreds  of  Irish  throats. 

Captain  O'Grady  was  appointed  to  tender  to  the 
government  the  services  of  the  legion  in  case  of  war 
with  Chile,  and  the  meeting  adjourned  for  two  weeks. 

*  * 

When  the  meeting  re-assembled  in  the  closing  days 
of  January,  the  war  cloud  had  passed  away.  The 
enemies  of  the  great  Republic  shrank  from  a  contest 
which  meant  the  annihilation  of  Chile  and  the  humil 
iation  of  England.  Chile,  in  response  to  President 
Harrison's  ultimatum,  had  tendered  its  abject  apol 
ogy,  had  withdrawn  its  offensive  utterances  and  its 
demand  for  the  recall  of  Egan. 

But  the  tory  and  the  dude,  the  mugwump  and  the 
doughface,  the  copperhead  and  the  anglomaniac, 
were  unhappy.  They  had  tempted  Chile  to  the  verge 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  251 

of  destruction,  in  their  hatred  of  American  nation 
ality.  But  the  Irish-American  volunteers  adjourned 
their  meeting  in  a  spirit  of  gratification  ;  and  the 
giant  Bradley  grasped  the  staff  of  the  bright  new 
American  flag,  and  kissing  the  hem  of  the  banner 
itself,  led  the  procession  out  into  the  street,  while 
the  stars  of  the  winter  night  looked  down  as  with  a 
benediction  upon  the  stars  of  the  flag  that  symbol 
izes  the  power  of  a  nation  strong  in  justice  and 
mercy,  and  merciful  in  its  strength. 

On  the  same  night  the  municipal  council  of  the 
Irish  National  League  of  New  York  City  adopted  a 
resolution,  thanking  President  Harrison  for  sustain 
ing  and  vindicating  Minister  Patrick  Egan,  "a 
representative  Irishman  whom  the  President  had 
been  pleased  to  honor  by  appointment  to  that  office." 
In  this  they  voiced  the  opinions  and  feelings  of  Irish- 
Americans  generally,  and  of  their  kindred  in  Ireland. 
In  the  remotest  corner  of  the  Republic,  Andy  Dillon 
read  the  resolution  in  a  San  Diego  newspaper. 

"  Pagan,"  said  he  to  Peter  Mclntyre,  "what  d'ye 
think  of  that?" 

"  Of  what  ?  of  the  conduct  of  the  President  or  of 
the  action  of  the  municipal  council?" 

"  Of  both,"  said  Dillon. 

"There  is  nothing  surprising  in  the  President's 
action.  The  Republican  party  has  always  loyally 
upheld  the  rights  of  foreign-born  citizens  sojourning 
in  other  lands.  That  party  repudiated  and  over 
threw  the  English  claim  of  perpetual  allegiance,  and 
rescued  our  imprisoned  kindred  from  the  hulks  and 
prison  hells  of  E norland  in  vindication  of  their  rights 
and  liberties  as  American  citizens.  Harrison  has 
simply  emphasized  the  Republican  doctrine,  and  ex 
panded  it.  He  has  given  public  notice  that  an 
American  citizen  of  Irish  birth,  serving  this  govern- 


252  ERIN  MOR:     THE   STORY  OF 

ment  in  a  diplomatic  capacity,  so  long  as  he  does  his 
duty,  will  neither  be  removed  nor  molested  on  any 
demand  coming  from  Chile  or  from  England.  Har 
rison  doesn't  take  instructions  from  the  London 
Times,  nor  the  Democratic  press." 

"But  there  was  a  time,  Peter,"  said  Andy,  "when 
no  body  of  Irishmen  in  America  would  offend  the 
Democratic  bosses  by  adopting  such  a  resolution." 

"True  enough,  byatkair"  responded  the  Pagan; 
"but  the  world  moves.  Your  dream  of  Erin  Mor 
is  realized.  Henceforth  and  forever,  please  God,  the 
Irish  in  America  will  march  shoulder  to  shoulder 
with  the  brain  and  soul  and  conscience  of  the  Ameri 
can  people,  for  the  best  good  of  humanity  and  the 
best  ends  in  government.  The  older  generation  of 
Irishmen,  now  rapidly  passing  away,  may  continue 
to  vote  the  Democratic  ticket,  with  a  sort  of  spent 
political  force,  as  an  engine  goes  down  grade  though 
its  steam  has  become  exhausted  ;  but  having  once 
resolved  upon  the  right  to  think,  Irish- Americans 
will  keep  on  thinking.  The  present  generation  are 
neither  fools  nor  slaves  nor  bigots.  If  they  are  not 
fools  they  must  certainly  see  the  perfect  unity  of 
interest  and  purpose  existing  between  England  and 
the  Democratic  party.  If  they  are  not  bigots,  they 
will  think  about  this  until  they  arrive  at  just  conclu 
sions;  and  if  they  are  not  slaves,  they  will  break 
every  partisan  tie  that  dictates  to  them  the  unnatural 
course  of  sustaining  English  interests  in  America, 
contrary  to  their  own  welfare  and  contrary  to  every 
sacred  impulse  that  animates  the  heart  of  every  true 
Irishman." 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

A  RESURRECTION. 

j  \/ 

f?T  was  during  the  Presidential  campaign  of 
1884.  The  Opera  House  at  Paterson  was 
filled  to  overflowing.  An  Irish  orator  had 
been  announced  to  speak.  He  was  a  man 
of  national  reputation,  strongly  built,  gloomy 
and  dark  as  night;  with  eyes  that  in  repose  were 
calm  and  inexpressive,  but  which  fairly  flashed 
fire  when  he  endeavored  to  excite  the  gratitude  that 
Irishmen  owe  to  America.  In  the  audience  sat 
fifty  men  and  women,  natives  of  the  same  Irish  vil 
lage  from  which  this  man  had  been  exiled  in  1865. 
They  all  knew  him  well.  He  was  neither  an  aristo 
crat  nor  a  peasant.  He  was  the  son  of  a  prosperous 
business  man.  He  had  been  guilty  of  the  crime  of 
loving  Ireland,  arid  hunted  down  like  a  wild  beast 
for  the  crime  (?)  The  knowledge  of  these  facts  was  his 
passport  to  the  hearts  of  old  neighbors.  His  crime 
wyas  his  patent  of  nobility.  Andy  Dillon  loved  him 
with  a  brother's  love,  followed  him  from  city  to  city, 
and  occupied  a  seat  beside  him  in  the  Opera  House. 
Irishmen  thronged  the  hall.  Front  seats  had  been  re 
served  for  ladies, and  girls  from  the  factories  took  ad 
vantage  ot  the  special  privilege.  Dillon  fixed  his  eyes 
upon  the  main  aisle,  philosophically  studying  the  faces 
of  the  audience.  Among  the  young  ladies  came  a  face 
and  form  that  seemed  to  him  familiar;  a  gentle  face 
with  ha;:c!  eyes  and  long  dark  lashes,  that  lent  to  the 
eyes  the  semblance  of  perpetual  smile.  There  was 
the  mr.?-bT-.'  brow  beneath  a  bank  of  coal,  the  rosebud 
lips,  the  swan-like  neck,  the  dress  of  dark  maroon, 
and  the  white  lamb's-wool  hood,  It  was,  and  it  could 
not  be — yet  it  certainly  was !  a  trifle  more  robust, 
taller  perhaps,,  a  little  less  divine  looking.  He  gasped, 


254  ERIN   MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

his  brain  reeled ;  he  rose  from  his  seat,  staggered  back 
into  the  dressing  room,  and  fell  insensible  to  the  floor. 

He  had  seen  in  the  audience  the  ghost  of  Nancy 
McHugh! 

Restoratives  were  administered  to  him  without 
disturbing  the  speaker  or  the  audience,  and  he  slowly 
revived.  He  endeavored  to  explain  the  cause  of  his 
sudden  illness,  and  his  friends  pronounced  it  a  delusion 
— "the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision."  They  induced 
him  to  return  to  the  stage.  His  eyes  wandered  to 
the  front  seat  in  which  he  had  beheld  the  apparition, 
and  still  there,  sure  enough,  sat  the  shade  of  Nancy 
McHugh.  Did  his  eyes  deceive  him?  Was  there 
an  empty  seat  personated  only  in  his  imagination? 

"  Do  you,"  said  he  to  a  friend  beside  him,  "  do 
you  see  in  the  front  bench  to  the  right  of  the  center 
aisle,  a  young  woman  with  coal-black  hair,  dressed 
in  maroon,  with  a  pure  white  hood  ?" 

"I  do,"  said  his  friend.  "  The  face  is  familiar  to 
me,  though  I  do  not  know  her  name.  She  comes 
from  the  vicinity  of  Orange.  I  have  seen  her  often 
in  the  streets  of  Paterson,  but  unfortunately  I  can 
not  identify  her." 

The  orator  concluded  his  remarks  ;  the  audience 
rose  to  depart.  There  was  a  rush  to  the  rear,  and 
the  occupants  of  the  front  benches  were  quietly  ad 
justing  their  cloaks  and  coats,  waiting  for  the  exit  of 
the  throng  behind.  Dillon  walked  down  the  steps 
from  the  platform  to  the  floor,  and  approached  the 
apparition. 

"  Beg  your  pardon,"  he  said ;  "your  face  is  familiar. 
'Tis  the  face  of  one  long  dead — of  one  who  has  re 
posed  in  death  in  the  old  cemetery  at  New  Limer 
ick  for  many  and  many  a  year,  and  in  whose  grave 
lies  the  heart  of  an  unworthy  lover,  who  loved  her 
with  a  love  that  was  more  than  love — - 
"  Not  wisely,  but  too  well." 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  255 

He  mechanically  extended  his  hand.  The  young 
lady  hastily  removed  her  glove,  and  placed  her  soft 
white  fingers  in  the  rugged  palm  of  the  California!!  ; 
and  the  touch  of  these  ringers  sent  over  his  frame  at 
first  a  thrill,  and  then  a  feeling  of  calmness  and  as 
surance.  The  soft  white  hand  was  no  spirit  hand, 
but  a  thing  of  flesh  and  blood. 

"Great  God,  girl!"  he  said,  "who  are  you?  what's 
your  name,  and  where  d'ye  come  from?" 

She  looked  at  him  inquiringly,  with  a  look  of  calm 
ness  that  was  feigned  rather  than  felt.  She  doubted 
his  sanity,  but  gave  him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt. 

"  My  name,  sir,  may  it  please  you,  is  Mary 
Me  Hugh." 

u  Was  there  of  your  family,"  he  inquired,  "a  girl 
called  Nancy  ?" 

The  wondering  girl  burst  into  tears.  "There 
was,"  she  replied  ;  "the  purest  soul  that  ever  dwelt 
on  earth,  or  ever  went  to  meet  its  God.  But  she 
has  been  dead  these  many  years — died  at  New  Lim 
erick,  near  the  Connecticut  line,  of  consumption — 
and  a  broken  heart.  She  was  my  sister  Nancy.  My 
name  is  Mary  McHugh." 

"  I  trust,"  he  said,  "  I  may  see  you  again  ?" 

"You  can,"  she  replied.  "I  am  a  teacher  in  the 
district  school  between  North  and  South  Orange,  at 
the  foot  of  Orange  Mountain.  There  are  no  streets 
in  the  vicinity,  but  you  can  inquire  near  the  Orange 
Valley  depot.  Everybody  knows  my  name." 

"And  your  name  ?"  he  repeated. 

"  My  name,  sir,  is  Mary  McHugh." 

He  bade  her  good-night,  and  she  felt  greatly  re 
lieved  as  he  removed  the  ample  sun-browned  hand 
from  her  little  white  fingers. 

Pie  hurriedly  passed  out  of  the  hall,  but  he  did  not, 
as  usual,  join  the  politicians  in  the  clubroorn  of  the 
hotel.  He  retired  to  his  room,  extinguished  the 


256  ERIN  MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

lights,  lay  down  in  bed  and  vainly  tried  to  sleep. 
He  closed  his  eyes,  but  the  eyes  of  his  soul  remained 
wide  open. 

The  events  of  his  life  passed  before  the  spiritual 
vision  like  a  panorama.  There  was  the  hawthorn 
hedgerow,  with  the  twining  woodbine,  that  sent  their 
fragrance  over  the  Irish  fields.  There  was  Nancy, 
dressed  in  her  maroon,  with  the  hawthorn  spray  upon 
her  bosom,  and  the  noneen  and  cowslips  in  her  hair. 
A  spirit  voice  repeated  the  plighted  vows.  There 
was  the  parting  kiss  and  the  tearful  farewell.  There 
passed  the  peelers  and  the  red-coated  soldiers  upon 
his  track.  He  saw  the  dim  light  in  the  window  of 
Nancy's  home,  and  the  smoke  curling  in  its  ascent 
from  his  father's  cabin ;  he  saw  the  emigrant  ship 
with  its  horrors.  His  heart  throbbed  once  again,  as 
it  did  upon  the  blessed  morning  when  his  weary  eyes 
beheld  the  Jersey  hills  and  the  outlines  of  New  York 
harbor.  And  he  saw  dear  Nancy  once  more  in  her 
exile  at  New  Limerick ;  and  he  saw  the  bloom  fade 
from  her  cheek,  and  the  love-light  vanish  from  her 
eyes,  and  the  hectic  flush  that  followed,  and  the  death 
scene  upon  the  fatal  night.  And  he  felt  the  tragic 
touch  of  her  poor  pale  fingers  on  his  neck,  and  the 
death  damp  of  her  dying  breath  upon  his  bosom,  and 
he  felt  upon  his  ear  the  merciless  fall  of  the  clods 
upon  her  coffin;  and  once  again  there  seemed  to  move 
a  heart  from  out  his  breast,  and  above  that  heart 
there  lay  the  weight  of  earth  that  covered  the  mould 
ering  remains  of  Nancy  Me  Hugh. 

And  he  traveled  in  imagination  across  the  conti 
nent  to  the  mountain  foot  at  Ao-ua  Caliente  ;  and  the 
glorious  flashing  dark  eyes  of  Marcellina  looked  into 
his  soul  and  appealed  in  vain  to  the  spirit  that  was 
dead — to  the  spirit  of  love  which  lives  but  once,  and 
is  never  re-animated. 

And  all  these  vivid  figures  disappeared. 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  257 

And  he  slept  and  dreamt,  and  in  his  dream  the 
form  of  Nancy  re-appeared.  They  were  husband 
and  wife  ;  and  in  her  arms  she  held  a  child,  a  son — • 
a  child  with  Nancy's  face,  with  the  same  gentle  fore 
head,  the  same  calm  sweet  eyes,  the  laughing  lashes, 
and  the  swan-like  neck;  and  the  mother  kissed  him 
and  blessed  him, and  the  child  leaped  with  joy.  And 
the  wagons  rushing  over  the  stony  streets  of  Pater- 
son  woke  him  from  his  dream,  and  the  sun  climbing 
over  the  Passaic  Falls  beamed  calmly  through  the 
lattice  of  his  window. 

He  awoke  with  a  fixed  resolution.  He  would 
marry  Mary  McHugh.  What!  and  abandon  Mar- 
cellina  ?  Yea,  abandon  Marcellina !  Surely,  if  he 
loved  the  California  girl,  he  would  not  exchange  that 
love  for  the  hand  of  another  whom  he  had  only  seen 
but  once,  in  a  public  meeting  at  Paterson  ?  Yea,  would 
he  forsake  the  girl  of  the  flashing  eyes.  It  was  not  a 
question  of  love.  He  reasoned  that  he  did  not  love, 
could  not  love.  No  man  ever  loves  but  once;  and 
when  the  heart  of  the  lover  is  buried  in  the  grave  of 
the  beloved,  there  is  no  resurrection,  and  the  feeling 
that  animated  him  now  was  neither  love  nor  passion, 
but  a  sentiment,  a  resolution  to  resurrect  the  dead, 
to  perpetuate  himself,  so  that  before  he  died  he 
might  see  the  reflection  of  his  own  soul,  and  in  the 
windows  of  the  soul  the  eyes  of  Nancy  McHugh. 

He  was  rich,  perhaps,  if  a  tin  mine  were  riches. 
He  was  at  least  possessed  of  worldly  goods  sufficient 
to  keep  him  out  of  the  poor-house.  Marcellina  was 
young  and  beautiful,  and  she  would  not  suffer  from 
dearth  of  adorers  under  the  sunny  skies  of  Southern 
California.  She  would  wed  a  younger  and  a  hand 
somer  man,  and  be  happier  than  she  could  ever  be 
with  him.  Perhaps  even  now,  during  his  temporary 
absence,  her  heart  had  wandered  elsewhere.  Surely 
she  could  absolve  him  from  his  tacit  promise,  with- 


258  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

out  serious  sacrifice  ;  but  come  what  may,  he  would 
marry  Mary  McHugh.  She  was  neither  wife  nor 
widow,  but  a  maiden  still.  Had  she  not  said  that 
her  name  was  Mary  McHugh?  and  his  dream  of  last 
night  was  repeated  in  a  waking  dream  ;  and  he  pic 
tured  Mary  as  his  wife — not  Nancy,  but  the  form 
and  face  of  Nancy.  And  the  child,  not  Nancy's 
child,  but  Nancy's  image,  and  the  innocent  eyes  and 
the  gentle  brow  and  the  raven  hair,  and  the  perpetu 
ation  of  himself  in  flesh  and  blood,  with  the  eyes 
of  Nancy  McHugh.  Yes,  he  would  marry  Mary 
McHuoh. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

WEDDING  BELLS. 

HE  wedding  cards  were  issued,  announc 
ing  the  marriage  of  the  Count  Bassiano 
and  Miss  Birdelia  Devoy,  and  the  many 
dear  friends  of  the  high  contracting  par 
ties  were  accordingly  elated.  Miss  Bir- 
delia's  trousseau  had  been  imported  from  Paris. 
Hundreds  of  guests  were  invited,  and  the  local  news 
papers  not  only  bepraised  the  intended  bride,  but 
paid  high  tributes  to  her  "  noble  father"  and  her 
"  distinguished  brothers."  The  church  of  St.  Loyola 
was  profusely  decorated  with  evergreens  and  flowers ; 
the  choir  had  been  practicing  for  weeks.  A  rich 
Brussels  carpet  was  laid  from  the  sidewalk  to  the 
vestibule.  The  tones  of  the  great  organ  arose  with 
in  the  church  and  captivated  the  senses  of  the  throng 
out  in  the  street.  Heavy  rain  had  fallen  on  the  pre 
ceding  night,  and  the  public  authorities  of  New 
Limerick,  never  over-scrupulous  in  the  matter  'of 


IRISH   REPUBLICANISM.  259 

street  cleaning,  had  permitted  quite  a  quantity  of 
refuse  matter  to  thicken  the  stagnant  water  outside 
the  curbstone.  The  carriage  drove  up  in  front  of 
the  church,  and  Count  Bassiano  stepped  from  his 
seat  and  extended  his  delicate  hand  to  lead  forth  the 
intended  bride,  when  a  powerfully  built  middle-aged 
man,  with  hair  almost  snowy  in  its  whiteness,  stepped 
up  to  the  carriage  and  dealt  the  count  a  blow  from 
the  shoulder,  with  clenched  fist,  fairly  between  the 
eyes.  The  would-be  bridegroom  fell  heavily  on  the 
sidewalk.  The  assailant  kicked  him  into  the  gutter, 
and  proceeded  to  dance  a  jig  upon  his  prostrate  body. 
Several  citizens  and  one  or  two  policemen  came  to 
the  rescue  of  the  count,  and  his  assailant  was  vio 
lently  dragged  away. 

"Poor  *  Peter  the  Pagan'  mad  again,"  was  echoed 
from  mouth  to  mouth, 

"  Not  much,"  interposed  Andy  Dillon  ;  and  ad 
dressing  Albert  Michael  and  Perry  Tonitis,  he  added, 
"  Don't  you  believe  that  the  'Pagan'  is  mad.  He 
has  saved  your  sister  from  an  awful  fate.  Your  count 
is  no  count.  Postpone  the  marriage  and  be  assured." 

The  intended  bride  was  driven  back  to  the  man 
sion,  and  the  would-be  bridegroom  to  a  bath-room 
and  thence  to  the  office  of  a  surgeon,  who  dressed 
the  wounds  upon  his  face.  The  injuries  to  his  body 
were  not  considered  dangerous.  Meanwhile  "Pagan 
Pete"  was  hurried  before  the  commissioners  of  insan 
ity.  Before  proceeding  to  take  testimony  they  gave 
the  "  Pagan  "  the  privilege  of  making  a  statement. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  I  have  no  statement  to 
make,  except  to  give  you  the  assurance  that  I  am 
not  mad,  or,  at  least,  that  there  is  some  little  method 
in  my  madness.  This  ' Count  Bassiano'  is  no  count 
and  no  Italian.  But  let  a  more  reliable  witness  speak 
for  me,  I  will  call  Detective  Burke  of  New  York." 

The  detective  stepped  forward,  was  sworn,  and 
produced  his  credentials. 


260  ERIN   MOlir    THE  STOliY  OF 

"  You  are  a  member  of  the  regular  detective  force 
of  New  York  City?" 

"I  am." 

"  Do  you  know  Count  Bassiano?  and  if  soyhow.  long 
have  you  known  him?" 

*'  If  you  mean  the  individual  calling  himself  Count 
Bassiano,  the  affianced  of  Miss  Devoy,  I  know  him. 
I  have  known  him  for  fifteen  years." 

"  State  if  you  know  his  residence  and  occupation, 
and  any  other  general  facts  in  relation  to  him  that 
you  know?" 

"  He  is  nominally,  occasionally,  a  musician,  who 
sometimes  plays  at  the  fashionable  haunts  of  vice  on 
Sixth  Avenue,  New  York  City;  but  his  character 
and  occupation  is  that  of  a  confidence  man  and 
blackmailer.  He  is  a  compatriot  and  factotum  of 
his  friend  Mr.  Isaac  Marx,  who  accompanies  him 
to-day.  He  passes  under  several  aliases." 

The  commissioners,  after  brief  consultation,  or 
dered  the  release  of  "Pagan  Peter,"  and  the  count 
and  Mr.  Isaac  Marx  returned  to  New  York  upon  the 
evening  train.  The  whole  police  force  and  several 
deputy  sheriffs  were  required  to  protect  them  from 
the  infuriated  friends  of  Miss  Devoy  on  their  way  to 
the  depot. 

On  the  morning  succeeding  these  exciting  events, 
"Pagan  Pete"  set  out  for  the  home  of  Maggie  Sul 
livan,  on  the  shore  of  Lake  Champlain,  and  Andy 
Dillon  took  his  departure  for  the  foot  of  Orange 
Mountain.  Dillon  had  already  completed  his  court 
ship,  and  at  evening,  when  the  sun  had  set  behind 
the  Orange  Mountain,  he  stood,  at  the  side  of  Mary 
McHugh,  upon  a  shaded  road  at  the  mountain  foot 
The  bright  moon  shining  through  the  trees  faintly 
revealed  the  blush  upon  her  charming  cheek,  and 
the  diamond  ring  which  he  had  placed  upon  her 
hand  in  token  of  their  engagement. 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  261 

* 

^Meanwhile,  '"Pagan  Pete"  rekindled  the  smould 
ering  fire  of  love  in  the  breast  of  Maggie  Sullivan. 
For  the  first  time  he  plainly  told  her  the  story  of  the 
cruel  outrage  to  which  his  enemies  had  subjected  him. 

"  Don't  mention  it,  Peter,"  she  replied.  "  I  never 
doubted  you.  Evil  to  those  that  think  evil.  Per 
haps  'tis  as  well ;"  and  her  graceful  arm  stole  softly 
around  his  rugged  neck,  and  she  kissed  him  fervently 
upon  the  cheek  and  brow. 

"  Maggie,"  said  the  "Pagan,"  "  if  you  don't  behave 
yourself  I'll  call  your  brother  Jim." 

"With  a  heart  and  a  half,  let  him  come,"  said  the 
blushing  Maggie. 

In  response  to  Peter's  call,  the  Captain  entered. 
''Well,  what  can  I  do  for  you  now,  Pete?" 

"Oc/i,  merely  give  us  your  consent  and  blessing." 

Captain  Sullivan  extended  his  single  arm  with 
open  up-turned  palm. 

"Give  me  your  hand,  Maggie.  And  now  your 
hand,  Peter;"  and  Peter  cheerfully  obeyed  the  com 
mand.  And  the  Captain,  pressing  both  hands  as 
well  as  he  was  able  with  his  single  hand,  gave  his 
consent  and  a  benediction. 

%* 

It  was  late  in  the  month  of  November  next  suc 
ceeding  these  events  of  the  fall,  that  two  married 
couples  stepped  from  an  open  carriage  in  front  of  the 
Hotel^  Arlington,  at  the  sea-side  city  of  Santa  Bar 
bara,  in  Southern  California. 

One  of  these  couples  consisted  of  a  gray-haired, 
fresh-faced  man  of  fifty-five,  whose  bride  was  his 
junior  by  perhaps  ten  years.  She  was  the  perfection 
of  womanhood  physically,  with  light  brown  hair  and 
calm  dark  blue  eyes. 

The  second  couple  consisted  of  a  vigorous  middle- 
aged  man,  whose  beard  was  iron-gray,  but  the  mass 
of  dark  hair  that  crowned  his  head  still  retained  its 


262  ERIN  MOB:    THE  STORY  OF 

original  color.  The  bride  was  under  thirty  years  of 
age,  with  coal-black  hair  and  hazel  eyes,  with  a  face 
exceedingly  fair,  and  a  neck  that,  in  the  purity  of  its 
whiteness,  showed  in  charming  contrast  with  the 
ample  braids  of  the  raven  hair.  The  couples  were 
accompanied  by  a  little  party  of  friends,  and  by  a  mid 
dle-aged  black  man,  a  servant,  to  whom  extraordinary 
kindness  and  deference  were  shown.  Need  it  be 
hinted  that  the  couples  were  "Pagan  Pete"  and 
Andy  Dillon  and  their  wives?  that  the  man  of  color 
was  Tony  Sexton  ?  The  accompanying  friends  were 
three  in  number,  consisting  of  Dr.  Barry  and  his 
wife,  who  came  upon  Dillon's  invitation  to  enjoy  a 
winter  in  the  balmy  air  of  Southern  California,  and 
a  young  lady,  whose  dark  complexion  and  sparkling 
black  eyes,  beneath  a  head  of  soft,  wavy  auburn  hair, 
indicated  that  in  her  veins  were  mingled  the  blood 

o 

of  the  Indian  and  of  some  fair  race  of  Northern 
Europe.  This  lady  was  Marcellina,  the  child  of  the 
Indian  woman,  whom  Dillon  had  rescued  at  sea 
near  Ensenada  when  she  was  a  child.  She  had  been 
at  school  for  three  years  at  Los  Angeles,  and  had 
recently  completed  her  education  at  a  St.  Louis  con 
vent.  If,  as  we  may  reasonably  believe,  she  had 
once  loved  Andy  Dillon,  her  thoughts  were  turned 
from  earth  and  directed  toward  things  more  serious 
and  sacred.  She  was  soon  to  renounce  the  world 
and  devote  herself  to  the  service  of  God  among  his 
suffering  creatures  at  the  leper  colony  in  the 
Sandwich  Islands. 

Some  days  were  devoted  to  yachting  upon  the 
ocean  among  the  islands  of  the  Santa  Barbara  Chan 
nel.  There  were  excursions  into  the  mountains,  and 
a  hasty  journey  into  Lower  California,  picnics  at 
Pacific  Beach,  and  a  season  of  rest  at  Fern  Hill. 

The  faithful  Tony  Sexton  continues  in  Dillon's 
service,  the  man  of  all  work,  the  guardian  and  friend. 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  263 

And  now,  that  his  Eastern  friends  have  left  h:m, 
Andy  Dillon  occasionally  relapses  into  day  dreams 
of  his  Erin  Mor — of  brighter  days  and  greater  things 
in  store  for  the  Irish  in  America. 

He  firmly  believes  that  one  of  the  two  great  "Eng 
lish  speaking  nations"  must  decline,  and  he  dimly 
discerns  the  beginning  of  that  decline.  He  sees  the 
manufacture  and  commerce  of  America  expand, 
while  there  is  a  commensurate  shrinkage  in  the  in 
dustries  of  Britain.  He  believes  that  protection  and 
reciprocity  will  ultimately  give  the  United  States 
control  of  the  American  continent's  commerce;  and 
he  sees  in  the  brightening  vista  a  dismembered  Brit 
ish  Empire  and  an  independent  and  united  Ireland. 

And  beside  him,  as  he  thus  indulges  in  specula 
tions  as  to  the  future  of  nations  and  of  men,  there 
are  two  objects  that  are  very  dear  to  him — that  day 
by  day  make  the  world  seem  brighter  to  him,  and 
that  stimulate  his  soul  and  body  to  greater  effort  and 
loftier  aims.  His  wife  sits  snugly  in  her  rocking- 
chair,  and  on  her  lap  there  is  a  child,  his  infant  son, 
reflecting,  as  in  a  looking-glass,  his  own  rude  Celtic 
facial  outlines,  and  the  gentle  soulful  hazel  eyes  of 
his  unforgotten  Nancy  Me  Hugh. 

On  Dillon's  homestead  at  Fern  Hill  there  is  a 
forty-acre  tract  reserved  for  friends.  It  occupies  a 
commanding  site  upon  a  hill-side,  and  slopes  to  the 
east  and  south.  Far  up  the  hill  there  is  a  bubbling 
spring,  which  forms  a  silvery  rivulet,  and  this  tiny 
stream  is  so  conducted  as  to  water  the  cypress  hedge 
and  the  row  of  marguerites  and  the  line  of  fragrant 
magnolias  that  separate  the  tract  from  the  avenue  that 
leads  down  to  the  public  road.  Within  the  inclosure 
the  land  is  so  divided  as  to  make  home-sites  for  a 
score  of  friends,  giving  to  each  a  comfortable  front 
age  upon  the  avenue.  The  hill-top  is  crowned  with 
forest  trees — with  eucalyptus  and  sycamores  and  live 
oaks ;  and  nestling  near  the  base  are  miniature 


264  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

groves  of  orange,  lemon,  fig  and  olive.  Luxuriant 
grape-vines  climbing  over  trellis-work  form  numer 
ous  arbors  and  alleys,  and  amid  the  lilies  and  the 
roses,  the  tulips,  violets  and  forget-me-nots,  the  honey 
bees  linger  on  their  journey  from  the  delicate  white 
sage  upon  the  mountain-side  to  the  wild  flowers  in 
the  ocean  valley. 

Two  especially  beautiful  cottage  sites  have  been 
set  apart  for  Dr.  Barry  aod  Rev.  William  McNevin. 
The  medical  man  looks  forward  hopefully  to  the 
time  when  his  labors  in  New  York  City  shall  cease, 
when  he  may  crown  an  active  and  useful  life  with 
an  age  of  ease  amid  the  beauties  of  Fern  Hill. 

The  Methodist  minister,  who  is  temporarily  en 
gaged  in  the  diplomatic  service  of  the  United  States 
in  one  of  the  beautiful  venerable  cities  of  Southern 
Europe,  expects  to  return  at  an  early  day,  to  enjoy 
in  the  closing  years  of  his  earthly  career,  in  the  joys 
of  Southern  California,  a  foretaste  of  that  eternal 
bliss  to  which,  in  the  exercise  of  his  sacred  calling, 
he  has  guided  many  a  weary  soul. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

SOME  PERSONAL   HISTORY. 

NE  Saturday  night  the  Devoy  family  were 
disturbed  at  their  prayers  by  a  violent 
knocking  at  the  hall  door  of  the  mansion. 
Old  Mrs.  Devoy  went  down  to  open  the 
door,  as  it  was  a  general  understanding 
that,  in  case  of  visits  from  robbers,  the  old  lady  would 
be  the  most  suitable  person  for  the  emergency ;  that  if 
any  person  was  to  be  murdered  on  such  occasion, 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  265 

she  was  the  best  prepared  to  die.  In  response  to 
her  inquiry,  "  Who's  there  ?  "  came  the  answer  : 

«  Me— Frank." 

"What  Frank?" 

"  Me,  Francis  Xavier,  mother ;  your  son,  Frank 
Devoy." 

The  mother,  recognizing-  the  voice,  drew  the  bolts 

of  the  massive  door,  and  the  prodigal  son  staggered 

i     i    11  &  &t> 

into  the  hall. 

Francis  Xavier  had  left  California  somewhat  hast 
ily.  A  reform  grand  jury  had  indicted  him  for  brib 
ing  a  few  members  of  the  legislature.  In  those  days 
the  State  of  California,  by  a  polite  political  fiction,  was 
said  to  be  governed  under  a  Republican  form  of  gov 
ernment  ;  and  the  existence  of  a  legislative  assembly, 
of  courts  and  other  appliances  of  government  lent  an 
air  of  plausibility  to  the  fiction.  But  the  State  in  truth 
was  governed  by  a  blind  saloon-keeper.  His  power 
was  superior  to  that  of  courts  and  legislatures. 
Popular  elections  merely  ratified  his  will  in  the  selec 
tion  of  public  officials.  The  good  people  of  San 
Francisco  became  virtuous  spasmodically. 

They  witnessed  with  stoical  fortitude  a  series  of 
crimes  against  the  lives  and  liberties  of  citizens  for 
years  at  a  time,  and  then  suddenly  their  virtuous  in 
dignation  is  aroused  ;  an  elisor  is  appointed,  a  special 
grand  jury  is  impaneled,  and  indictments  fly  like 
snow-flakes.  One  of  these  virtuous  juries  undertook 
to  indict  the  blind  saloon-keeper  and  a  number  of 
his  lieutenants  and  accessories.  The  chieftain  him 
self  fled  to  Canada  for  protection  under  the  British 
flag;  and  his  lieutenant,  Francis  Xavier  Devoy,  chief 
of  the  Kilmaroos,  alias  Tim  Deverejjx,  rushed  back 
to  New  Limerick.  Learning  of  the  outrage  that  had 
been  committed  upon  the  family  by  the  bogus  count 
and  Isaac  Marx,  he  vowed  vengeance  against  them, 
and  during  one  of  his  protracted  sprees  he  pursued 


266  ERIN   MOR:    THE   STORY  OF 

the  count  among  the  dens  on  Sixth  avenue,  and 
artistically  carved  him  with  a  bowie-knife,  which  had 
seen  service  for  years  in  the  hands  of  San  Francisco 
hoodlums.  Though  death  did  not  result  imme 
diately,  the  titled  villain  never  recovered  from  the 
effects  of  the  carving.  At  last  accounts  Francis 
Xavier  was  "doing  time"  for  this  murderous  offense 
at  one  of  the  penitentiaries  in  the  Empire  State. 

The  history  of  Albert  Michael  Devoy  and  his 
brother  Tonitis,  up  to  date,  may  be  briefly  told. 
Neither  of  them  ever  married.  They  lived  the  lives 
of  old  bachelors  under  the  roof  of  the  family  mansion, 
with  their  aged  but  vigorous  mother,  at  the  time  our 
record  ceases.  There  is  a  reasonable  prospect  that 
Francis  Xavier  will  die  in  prison,  and  ground  for 
hope  that  the  male  line  of  the  Devoy  family  may 
terminate  with  the  present  generation. 

Birdelia  Devoy  became  Bridget  O'Neill,  the  happy 
and  honored  wife  of  a  very  worthy  merchant  at  New 
Limerick.  She  was  a  child  of  fortune  whom  the 
fickle  goddess  sorely  tempted  and  very  nearly  ruined. 
Born  in  abject  poverty,  cradled  in  ignorance,  she 
became  in  early  life  surrounded  by  wealth,  as  if  some 
fairy  goddess  showered  gold  and  gems  into  her  lap. 
As  she  became  a  young  girl,  she  was  feasted,  flat 
tered  and  petted  by  all  the  vulgar  sycophants  and 
hypocrites  who  feasted  under  the  name  of  society  in 
the  family  mansion  ;  but  she  rose  above  these  un 
fortunate  surroundings  —  rose  above  pianos  and 
French  and  imported  troiisseaux.  On  the  Sunday 
morning  succeeding  the  unfortunate  fiasco  with  the 
count,  she  appeared  at  the  family  breakfast  table 
clothed  in  a  plain  grey  suit,  such  as  her  female  servant 
wore  ;  and  when  she  set  out  for  mass,  she  put  upon  her 
shoulders  a  ten-dollar  woolen  cloak,  and  a  four-dollar 
hat,  which,  though  genteel  and  becoming  to  her  sex, 
was  exceedingly  plain,  with  its  dark  trimmings  and 


IKISH  REPUBLICANISM.  267 

destitution  of  ornament.     Albert  Michael,  in  helping 
her  to  the  omelet,  addressed  her  as  "Sister  Birdelia."° 

"  Michael,"  she  said,  "my  name  is  Bridget.  I  want 
this  privately  and  publicly  understood  and  declared." 

And  from  that  hour  forward,  Bridget  it  was.  She 
was  no  longer  young.  She  was  "  fat,  fair  and  forty." 
She  was  vigorous,  vivacious  and  entertaining,  with 
the  freshness  of  appearance  and  frankness  of  manner 
which  generally  characterize  the  woman  who  is  pure 
and  clean  of  heart ;  and  such  was  Bridget  Devoy. 
Need  it  be  wondered  that  Edward  O'Neill,  the 
genial  and  chivalrous  dry-goods  man,  was  among  the 
most  ardent  of  her  admirers,  and  soon  won  his  way 
to  her  heart?  They  were  married  at  the  church  of 
St.  Loyola.  There  was  a  glorious  old-time  wedding. 
The  mansion  was  brilliantly  lighted  from  garret  to 
basement.  The  parlor,  drawing-room  and  library 
were  cleared  of  furniture  and  of  carpets  for  the  dance, 
and  when  the  banquet  was  ended,  young  and  old 
wheeled  and  circled  in  jigs  and  reels  and  hornpipes 
until  the  gray  hours  of  morning.  The  basement  was 
set  apart  for  the  convivial  ones.  The  Irish  of  New 
Limerick  never  so  heartily  enjoyed  themselves  be 
fore  ;  and  when  the  night's  festivities  were  ended, 
and  guests  circled  around  the  happy  couple  to  say 
good-bye  and  wish  them  joy,  the  honest  heart  of 
the  bride  was  filled  with  earnest  pride  and  thankful 
ness  to  H  :aven  as  she  gazed  upon  the  intelligent 
manhood  and  the  womanly  beauty  surrounding  her, 
that  she  was  one  of  them,  not  only  in  name,  but 
Irish  to  the  heart's  core — every  fiber  of  her  body, 
every  pulse  of  her  heart. 

Bridget  had  one  amiable  weakness.  The  efforts 
of  certain  bishops  of  the  Catholic  church  to  christ 
ianize  the  negro  excited  her  warmest  enthusiasm. 
She  was  present  at  the  congress  of  colored  Catholics 
in  Philadelphia,  held  during  the  close  of  the  year 
1891.  She  heard  read  the  communications  from 


268  ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 

Cardinal  Gibbons  and  from  Bishop  Ireland,  breath 
ing  the  spirit  of  true  Christian  charity  and  of  human 
liberty.  She  would  not  dare  to  doubt  the  sincerity 
of  a  bishop  speaking  ex  cathedra  ;  but  it  puzz!ed  and 
pained  her  sympathetic  soul  to  think  that  her  brothers 
and  millions  of  their  race  in  America,  who  were  wil 
ling  to  admit  the  negro  into  their  pews,  were  hostile 
to  his  rights  and  liberties  as  an  American  citizen. 
Her  enthusiasm  became  very  embarrassing  to  Father 
Ventura  and  to  the  leading  members  of  St.  Loyola's. 

''Ah,  Father,"  she  would  say,  "  if  God  would  only 
send  the  spirit  of  the  Holy  Ghost  into  the  hearts  of 
our  people  in  America,  and  that  spirit  would  enlighten 
them  as  to  the  sacredness  of  human  right  under 
American  law,  what  a  harvest  the  church  would  reap 
among  the  negroes ! " 

tf  My  dear  child,"  the  good  Father  replied,  "our 
church  makes  no  distinction  on  account  of  race  or 
color,  and  we  do  not  interfere  in  politics  except 
where  some  political  question  is  inseparably  connected 
with  some  grave  question  of  morals." 

"  But,  Father,  couldn't  the  church  just  hint  to  its 
membership  that  the  outrages  committed  against  the 
negro  in  the  South  are  a  violation  of  law  and  morals  ?" 

"Dear  Mrs.  O'Neill,  it  is  not  our  people  who 
commit  these  outrages.  There  are  comparatively 
few  of  our  people  in  the  old  slave  states  of  the  South." 

"Yes,  Father,  but  they  go  the  polls  in  the  North 
and  ratify  those  crimes  by  their  votes." 

"True  enough,  my  child;  but  you  will  excuse  me 
now.  There  is  a  delegation  of  the  St.  Vincent  De 
Paul  Society  waiting  in  the  parlor  to  see  me." 

Bridget  vowed  that  she  would  "appeal  to  Csesar;" 
that  she  would  petition  Cardinal  Gibbons,  and  if  he 
failed  to  respond,  she  would  visit  Rome  and  have 
some  declaration  from  the  Pope.  She  lives  and 
labors  in  the  hope  and  belief  that  if  the  Irish  could 
ever  be  softened  into  a  spirit  of  charity  toward  the 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  269 

colored  race,  and  obedience  to  the  law  relating  to 
him,  that  the  church  might  carry  the  cross  of  Christ  in 
triumph  from  the  Ohio  River  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 

Writers  of  romance  and  of  poetry  would  sacrifice 
the  truth  in  the  interest  of  poetic  justice  in  relation 
to  Isaac  Marx.  They  would  charge  their  pens  with  a 
million  volts  of  lightning  and  kill  Isaac  by  electrocu 
tion,  and  consign  him  to  a  quick-lime  grave,  consist 
ent  with  poetic  justice  ;  but  in  a  truthful  narrative  we 
may  not  tell  a  lie  and  at  the  same  time  usurp  the  power 
which  the  Almighty  reserves  for  himself.  Mr.  Isaac 
Marx  still  lives,  and  exerts  his  growing  power  in  the 
politics  of  New  York  City.  It  was  his  Irish  custom 
ers  who  died.  They  fed  from  a  different  dish  and 
drank  an  inferior  stimulant.  Most  of  the  famine 
exiles  laid  their  weary  bones  at  rest  in  Cavalry  Cem 
etery.  They  died  slowly  in  the  foul  atmosphere  of 
the  miserable  tenements  in  which  necessity  compelled 
them  to  live.  To  the  day  of  their  death  Mr.  Marx 
manipulated  their  caucuses  and  herded  a  majority  of 
them  at  the  polls ;  and  when  the  older  generation  of 
them  died,  he  stoutly  asserted  his  authority  over  the 
suffrages  of  their  sons  upon  the  doctrine  that  being 
Irish  they  were  Democrats;  that  their  blood  was 
tainted  politically,  and  that  the  old  masters  were  en 
titled  to  the  allegiance  of  the  new  generation. 

Mr.  Marx  is  a  regular  attendant  at  the  meetings 
of  the  famous  Reform  Club  (the  Democratic  auxiliary 
in  America  of  the  Cobden  Club  of  England).  His 
polished  pate  flashed  back  the  light  of  its  chandeliers 
on  the  occasion  of  Mr.  Ricardo  TrumbulFs  reception, 
and  the  portly  form  of  Isaac  shook  like  a  barrel  of 
pigs'  feet  jelly  as  he  listened  to  the  renegade  Ameri 
can,  Richard  Trumbull,  delegate  in  the  Chilean  Con 
gress,  echo  the  brutal  and  insulting  sentiments  of 
England  and  the  English  press  in  assailing  America 
and  the  American  administration.  He  was  overjoyed 
when  Trumbull  abused  Patrick  Egan,  the  wise, 


270 


ERIN  MOR:    THE  STORY  OF 


heroic  and  dutiful  minister  of  our  government  to 
Chile ;  and  some  of  his  Irish  constituents  who  accom 
panied  him  licked  the  feet  that  kicked  them,  by 
echoing  the  gee-haws  of  Mr.  Marx. 

Bill  Percival,  the  venerable  Knownothing,  stands 
high  in  the  councils  of  the  Democratic  party  in  New 
Limerick.  He  is  a  particular  friend  of  the  Devoys. 
He  is  a  leading  member  of  the  "A.  P.  A.,"  and  an 
ardent  supporter  in  caucus  of  the  Irish-American 
candidates,  whom  he  earnestly  labors  to  defeat  at 
the  polls  ;  and  among  the  ignorant  and  depraved  of 
his  constituents  his  popularity  increases,  while  he 
repeats  the  venerable  falsehood  that  Knbwnothing- 
ism  sprang  from  the  Republican  party. 

But  Percival  finds  very  few  believers  of  this 
atrocious  falsehood  among  the  present  generation  of 
Irish-Americans,  because  they  read  history,  and 
reason  for  themselves.  Doing  this,  they  must  real 
ize  that  Knownothingism  was  utterly  incompatible 
with  the  doctrines,  purposes  and  personnel of  the  Re 
publican  party.  They  realize  also  that,  if  a  mob 
were  required  to  burn  a  church,  you  could  not  find 
the  right  material  among  Republicans. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

CONCLUSION. 

N  the  night  of  the  spring  election  in  Rhode 
Island  (April,  1892)  blue  lights  appeared 
in  the  tall  tower  of  the  New  York  daily 
World.  These  lights  were  intended  as 
the  signal  of  distress  to  the  friends  of 
British  free-trade.  It  was  so  preconcerted  that,  if 
the  Democrats  won  in  "  Little  Rhody,"  the  World 


IRISH  REPUBLICANISM.  271 

would  display  the  scarlet  signal  of  England  in  its 
tower  ;  if  the  result  was  a  victory  for  the  American 
principle  of  protection,  the  blue  lights  would  signal 
the  ca' amity. 

There  was  a  notable  gathering  at  the  rooms  of  the 
Reform  Club  (Democratic  auxiliary  of  the  London 
Cobdc  n  Club).  Groyer  Cleveland  had  just  returned 
from  Providence.  Sir  Julian  Pauncefote,  the  Brit 
ish  Minister  at  Washington,  sent  his  private  secretary. 
The  British  Consul  at  New  York  was  represented 
by  Mr.  Jenkins,  an  English  secret  agent  from  Scot 
land  Yard.  Isaac  Marx  came  up  from  Chatham 
Square,  and  Albert  Michael  Devoy  came  down  from 
New  Limerick.  The  Democracy  had  based  its  hope 
upon  "the  Irish  vote"  of  Rhode  Island.  If  those 
Irish  who  were  enfranchised  by  the  new  Constitution 
voted  for  tariff  reform,  it  meant  a  victory  for  Eng 
land,  and  vice  versa. 

"The  Irish  have  gone  back  on  us,"  Mr.  Cleveland 
observed. 

"  Looks  that  way,"  said  Albert  Michael.  "We 
have  lost  our  grip  upon  the  Irish  vote." 

Albert  Michael  was  right.  "Greater  Ireland"  had 
"  swelled  beyond  the  measure  of  her  chains."  Slowly 
the  children  of  the  exiled  Celts  realized  the  pre- 
ciousness  of  their  heritage  as  citizens  and  co-heirs  to 
the  rights,  liberties  and  dignities  of  Americans.  They 
contemplated  with  joy  the  splendid  spectacle  of 
American  nationality  under  the  administration  of 
Harrison.  The  Blaine  extradition  treaty  with  Eng 
land  had  secured  all  Irish  political  exiles  against  the 
unfriendly  touch  of  British  power  ;  the  McKinley  bill 
had  increased  the  manufactures  of  the  United  States, 
and  swelled  its  import  and  export  trade  beyond  all 
anticipation  and  precedent.  Chile  had  gracefully 
surrendered  under  the  kindly,  firm  diplomacy  of  the 
administration  ;  Italy  rejoiced  under  the  generous 


272  ERIN  MOK. 

treatment  extended  to  the  families  of  the  Mafia 
fiends  killed  at  New  Orleans  ;  and  the  same  power 
which  in  the  consciousness  of  right  and'strength  was 
patient  with  Chile  and  merciful  with  Italy,  " brought 
England  to  her  knees"  in  the  Behring  Sea  contro 
versy. 

The  year  1892  witnessed  the  consummation  of 
Andy  Dillon's  hopes.  The  Irish  exiles  scraped 
away  the  parasites  and  barnacles  that  fed  and 
fattened  on  the  race  in  American  politics  while  they 
befouled  it  in  the  eyes  of  the  American  people.  As 
the  Irish  extended  their  hands  in  sympathy  and 
fellowship  with  the  soul,  the  brain,  the  manhood  and 
conscience  of  American  national  life,  the  American 
hand  was  extended  responsively.  When  Irish- 
Americans  did  anything  to  be  proud  of,  other  Ameri 
cans  traced  the  family  record  and  claimed  kindred 
with  them.  Republican  orators  were  invited  to  voice 
their  sentiments.  Chauncey  M.  Depew  delivered  the 
eulogy  on  Parnell  at  -the  memorial  services  in  New 
York;  and  the  glorious  eloquence  of  Jonathan  P. 
Dolliver  made  the  great  hall  of  Cooper  Union  ring 
with  a  vindication  of  the  character  and  motives  of 
Emmet.  The  church  and  creed  of  the  exiles  also 
rose  in  popular  estimation  as  Erin  Mor  flung  aside 
the  barbarism  and  bigotry  which  Democracy  had  so 
persistently  inculcated;  and  the  church  of  St.  Loyola, 
at  New  Limerick,  instead  of  being  considered  fit 
material  for  a  bonfire  to  make  a  Knownothing 
holiday,  was  at  last  regarded  in  its  proper  light  —  a 
sacred  edifice  sheltering  a  congregation  not  less  loyal 
to  America  than  other  Americans. 


,YC   15320 


